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OTHER BOOKS BY 


DWIGHT EDWARDS MARVIN 


Winning Souls 

Biblical references for use in personal Christian 
work. 

The Christman 

A novel of Christian experience indicating the secret 
of spiritual strength and usefulness. 

Prof. Slagg of London 

A character study depicting the experiences of an 
adventurer. The story abounds in practical counsel 
and quaint humor. 

The Church and Her Prophets 
A review of present day religious life and require¬ 
ments of the Christian Church and her ministers. 

How to Excel 

A book of direction and encouragement to Sunday 
School Teachers. 

Common-sense Parents 

A study of child nature with directions as to the 
proper training of children. 


THE HARKSBOROUGH 
COMMITTEE 


BY 

DWIGHT EDWARDS MARVIN 


W. F. BRAINARD 
NEW YORK 
1915 



Copyright, 1906 and 1915 
By DWIGHT EDWARDS MARVIN 


Originally Published in 
The Westminster 


MAY 20 1915 

* A K** 

OCI, A4 0l"08 3 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Harksborough Committee . . 1 

II The Eagletown Prayer Meeting . 10 

III On the Way to Vinton Village . 24 

IV Sermon and Sociability 36 

r- 

V The Beaconhill Convention . . 49 

VI The Little Postman.63 

VII Tagging Ministers.75 

VIII Two Men and a Baby .... 84 

IX A Popular Preacher and a Lawn 

Party.96 

X Twenty-five Hundred Mosquitoes . 109 
XI Clothed with Simplicity . . . 120 

XII Getting Rid of a Minister . . .136 

XIII Mr. Ritchie’s Selfishness . . . 146 

XIV The Wrong and the Right Way . 156 
XV A Young Man’s Vision .... 170 

XVI Called of God.182 







THE HARKSBOROUGH 
COMMITTEE 

CHAPTER I 

THE HARKSBOROUGH COMMITTEE 

The pulpit of Harksborough Church 
had suddenly become vacant. Not that 
the Reverend Richard Downey, D.D., had 
resigned on account of any expressed dis¬ 
satisfaction with his preaching. On the 
contrary, he was considered one of the 
most popular ministers in the place. 
During the ten years of his pastorate he 
had faithfully and monotonously read 
each of his three hundred and eighty ser¬ 
mons three times over to his languid par¬ 
ishioners, who had as regularly nodded as¬ 
sent to his statements and rubbed their 
hands in satisfaction over his scholastic at¬ 
tainments. Neither had ill health caused 
Dr. Downey to sever his connection with 

the parish, for no man over forty years of 
1 


2 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


age was more vigorous of body or better 
able to attend to the social requirements 
of his position. 

The fact was, having spent the greater 
part of two years in continuous efforts 
to “better his condition,” he had at last 
secured a call from another church and, 
feeling sure that the members had been 
divinely guided in thus honoring him with 
their confidence, he acceded to their re¬ 
quest and announced to his people that he 
would preach on “The Directing Hand of 
Providence.” On the following Sabbath, 
he spoke with unusual earnestness and 
conviction and then, tearfully presented 
his resignation. A few weeks later he 
left Harksborough for his new field of 
labor. 

Scarcely had the members of the church 
recovered from the shock of the separa¬ 
tion, than they became aware that they 
were subjects of special consideration by a 
large number of outsiders who wrote 
lengthy epistles expressing their deep sym¬ 
pathy for the church because of Dr. Dow¬ 
ney’s departure, and ventured a word of 


COMMITTEE 


advice regarding his successor. They had 
believed for years that their pastor was the 
only man fitted to their needs, and were 
somewhat surprised on being informed 
that there were others who, because of spe¬ 
cial gifts and experiences, were quite as 
able, if not better able, to carry on the 
work. 

As almost every mail brought letters 
filled with advice, the church members ap¬ 
pointed a committee to sift all the applica¬ 
tions and recommendations that were re¬ 
ceived, and designate such men as seemed 
suitable for the place. The committee 
appointed consisted of Jonathan Ritchie, 
a trustee; Henry Stickler, a deacon; and 
Bently Moore, who represented the young 
people. 

A retired clergyman by the name of 
Goodwin was engaged to regularly supply 
the pulpit, and the committee turned its 
attention to inquiry regarding the qualifi¬ 
cations of different men. 

After several informal meetings, Mr. 
Moore was directed to answer all letters, 
which he did. Then he made a private 


4 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


list of the correspondents whom he consid¬ 
ered most direct, definite, manly and busi¬ 
ness-like in their statements. After 
which he prepared a set of resolutions for 
the government of the committee. They 
were as follows: 

First . As those who write to us show 
an interest in our church, we will answer 
all communications promptly and clearly, 
but without promise or encouragement, 
seasoning our speech with salt. 

Second. As “in the multitude of coun¬ 
selors there is safety/ 5 we will ask our fel¬ 
low-members to designate on slips of 
paper the kind of minister that they think 
is required for the church, that we may 
have something to govern us in our selec¬ 
tion. 

Third. As our people are neither 
princes nor paupers, free-handed nor 
miserly, we will ask them for some definite 
information regarding the salary that they 
are willing to pay and the salary that they 
want to pay, so that we may not be led 
into the error of recommending a minister 
who thinks that he is worth more than the 


COMMITTEE 


5 


willing sum, nor one whom others think is 
worth less than the want sum. We fur¬ 
thermore depend on the church to stick to 
the figures that are furnished. 

Fourth . As we do not want any man 
whose people are restless under his min¬ 
istry, or who is himself restless under diffi¬ 
culties, we will not as a rule consider the 
name of any applicant who has not been in 
his present field more than five years. 

Fifth. As nearly all the letters of com¬ 
mendation that we have received have 
been filled with laudatory statements 
rather than with definite information, we 
will hereafter send to all who write to us, 
a series of printed questions regarding 
the minister under consideration, as fol¬ 
lows: 

1. How long has he been preaching? 

2. What is his mental equipment? 

3. Does he want to change his pastor¬ 
ate? If so, why? 

4. How many years has he been in his 
present charge? 

5. Has he had any practical experi¬ 
ence in leading people to Christ ? 


6 THE HARKSBOROUGH 

6. Do business men have confidence 
in his methods? 

7. Can he talk on the subject of per¬ 
sonal religion, or does he confine himself 
to religion in general? 

8. Are his chief admirers men, women 
or children? 

9. Does he know the members of his 
Sunday-school when he meets them on the 
street? 

10. In his preaching does he refer 
more frequently to what the Bible says or 
to what he thinks God meant? 

11. What is the character of his ser¬ 
mons? Are they theological, theoretical, 
expository, practical or sentimental? 

12. In his sermon appeals does he have 
real heart power or only vociferating 
power? 

13. Does he read, recite, declaim, lec¬ 
ture or preach in the pulpit? 

Sixth. As it is easier for three men 
than for three hundred to settle on a pas¬ 
tor, we agree to hear ministers in their 
own pulpits before letting the congrega- 


COMMITTEE 7 

tion hear them in the Harksborough pul¬ 
pit. 

Seventh . As we cannot afford to have 
two or more men for pastors, we will com¬ 
mend but one at a time. A splintered 
vote is apt to lead to a splintered congre¬ 
gation. Splinters make admirable kin¬ 
dlings, and kindlings sometimes create a 
blaze. 

Eighth. When the people think enough 
of a man to call him, we agree to formu¬ 
late a statement of the exact spiritual, fi¬ 
nancial and social condition of the church, 
so far as we are able, and present it to 
him, so that he will be able to judge cor¬ 
rectly as to his duty. Belated discoveries 
engender regrets and criticisms. 

In accordance with the second resolu¬ 
tion, slips were distributed among the 
church members and one hundred and ten 
opinions regarding the kind of a man that 
the church required, were returned. 
These were arranged and tabulated by the 
committee as follows: 

Twenty want some one who can preach. 


8 THE HARKSBOROUGH 

Seventeen want a house-to-house pastor. 

Fourteen want an orthodox man. 

Seven want some one who will take an 
interest in the Sunday-school. 

Seven want an up-to-date man. 

Six want a broad-minded man. 

Six want any one who suits the major¬ 
ity- 

Five want a Doctor of Divinity. 

Five want a good man. 

Four want a popular man. 

Four want some one who knows some¬ 
thing about music. 

Three want an all-around man. 

Three want some one who will preach 
short sermons. 

Three want a money-raiser. 

Three want a well appearing man. 

Three want a soul-winner. 

As the personal hearing of ministers 
in their own pulpits seemed desirable, the 
committee arranged to absent itself from 
home three months, or even four, if neces¬ 
sary, attend the services of different 
churches, listen to preachers, study the 
methods employed by them in reaching the 


COMMITTEE 


9 


people, and seek to familiarize itself with 
the spiritual condition of their parishes. 
This last purpose seemed important as 
they realized that, while the success of a 
pastor often depended to a large extent 
on local conditions, the character of his 
ministry would show itself to some extent, 
in the life and ideals of his church mem¬ 
bers. 


10 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER II 

THE EAGLETOWN PRAYER MEETING 

“Well, well, well!” exclaimed Mr. 
Ritchie, as he stood with his companions 
on the platform of the railway station at 
Eagletown and drew in a long breath and 
then patted his chest. “This air is enough 
to give inspiration to any minister. I’ll 
wager anything that you won’t find a man 
in this town who isn’t vigorous in both 
his body and mind. If I’m not mistaken, 
we won’t have to travel another mile to 
get the right preacher for Harksborough. 
We’ll find him here if we find him any¬ 
where. Hey, sir! Have you got any 
good hotels in Eagletown?” 

The question was addressed to the sta¬ 
tion master, who stepped forward. 

“Good hotel? Well, I should think 
so!” he replied, pointing to a large coun¬ 
try hostelry that could be seen through the 


COMMITTEE 


11 


trees a short distance down the road. 
“You won’t find any better joint for 
twenty miles around than Griglie’s, and 
he knows it.” 

“Thank you, thank you,” returned Mr. 
Ritchie, “we’ll go over and see. By the 
way, perhaps you could give us some in¬ 
formation about the ministers in Eagle- 
town? My, but this air ought to make 
them all first-class!” and he threw out his 
chest and took another long breath. 

“Don’t know about that,” he answered, 
“the air’s been here for a good many years, 
to my certain knowledge, but the parsons 
don’t seem to be any nearer first-class than 
when they came. Perhaps it’s because 
they’d done all their improving before 
they discovered the town. Now there’s 
the Methodist preacher. He can holler 
loud enough to rip off the shingles and 
topple over the chimney, but he could do 
just as well eighteen months ago as he 
can now. He hasn’t learned yet that mak¬ 
ing a racket isn’t the same thing as sawing 
wood and splitting it. And there’s the 
Baptist elder. He’s great on revivals. 


12 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


Gets ’em up every year and ropes in the 
same converts, as they call ’em, each time. 
My wife goes to his church and she says 
that he’s all right, but she said that the 
first time she heard him. And there’s the 
’Piscopal fellow; he says he does things he 
oughtn’t to do and leaves undone the 
things he ought to do, so he isn’t first-class 
yet. He’s got the folks kinder down on 
him because he won’t let the girls sing in 
the choir and says that the women mustn’t 
come to church in summer with their hats 
off. And there’s the Presbyterian min¬ 
ister. He does a deal of studyin’ and 
thinkin’. Folks say that he can prove 
straight out of the Scripters that what is 
to be will be, but it don’t seem to me that 
that’s anything to prove, as nobody that I 
can find thinks that it wouldn’t be. Most 
folks calls the ’Piscopal Church the church 
of the elite and the Presbyterian Church 
the church of the elect. You can take 
your choice lest you want to go to one 
of the others, and there’s ten of ’em within 
a stone’s throw of each other. First you 
go to Griglie’s. He isn’t much on what 


COMMITTEE 


13 


you call pious, but he’ll give you a good 
roast and roost.” 

“Hum!” ejaculated Mr. Stickler, as he 
walked with his two friends towards the 
hostelry. “You may like the air if you 
please, but I don’t. It’s vile. I’ll just 
bet you a new hat that we’ve wasted our 
time coming here. I wish that we’d read 
that letter we received about Soarer more 
carefully before we started. I don’t be¬ 
lieve he’s much. Any man would spoil in 
six months if he had to stay in this town. 
I know that I should fall from grace in 
three if I had to breathe this rank pine 
odor all the time. I begin to feel sick al¬ 
ready.” 

“Sorry,” returned Mr. Ritchie, as he 
paused to look around, “what keeps one 
man alive kills another. Salt water is 
mighty refreshing for mackerel, but it’s 
death to kittens, kind of rank to them, as 
you may say.” 

In a few moments they reached Grig- 
lie’s tavern and were assigned rooms. 
After bathing their hands and faces and 
removing the dust and cinders from their 


14* THE HARKSBOROUGH 


clothing, they went down stairs and en¬ 
tered the dining-room, where they did 
ample justice to the meal that had been 
provided. 

Stepping out on the wide porch Bently 
Moore reminded his companions that they 
had come to Eagletown on Friday so 
as to be able to hear the Rev. Mr. Soarer 
speak in the weekly meeting of his church, 
and, as it was a full hour before the time 
of service, suggested that they should walk 
about the village and look at the different 
meeting-houses. 

“As we are desirous of discovering the 
religious condition of the communities that 
we visit as well as to hear the sermons,” 
he observed, “it would be well for us to 
begin at once to familiarize ourselves with 
the exterior of the different places of wor¬ 
ship. You can often tell the spiritual 
character of a religious organization,” he 
continued, “by the way it takes care of its 
property. An attractive building and a 
carefully kept church-yard indicates thrift 
and well-ordered and interesting services, 
while a neglected meeting-house and un- 


COMMITTEE 


15 


tidy grounds indicate religious shiftless¬ 
ness and irregularity in the order of wor¬ 
ship that grate on one’s sensibilities. 
Putty and paint do more than preserve 
wood; they often proclaim the inner life of 
people.” 

The good sense of Mr. Moore’s proposal 
was recognized and the three men started 
on a tour of investigation. By means of 
the sign-boards on the church buildings 
they were soon able to locate most of 
the undertakers within a radius of four 
miles. That evening Bently Moore made 
the following entry in his note-book: 

“Instruct the trustees of the Harksbor- 
ough Church that its work is not so much 
to bury the dead as to raise the dead—to 
care for men rather than mummies and 
advertise the same.” 

Scarcely had they made the circuit of 
the town when they heard the church bells 
and turned their steps toward a plain 
white meeting-house where the Rev. Mr. 
Soarer preached. There were some 
twenty people in the room when they en¬ 
tered and took seats near the door. 


16 THE HARKSBOROUGH 

As soon as the minister stepped on the 
platform he noticed that there were stran¬ 
gers present. Surmising their errand, he 
at once became very nervous and fumbled 
his watch chain and the leaves of his hymn- 
book; then he tapped the floor with his 
foot, put his lips together, drew down his 
brow and remained in serious thought for 
a few moments. Finally he went over to 
a young woman, who had seated herself 
at the cabinet organ, and whispered in 
her ear. 

The room was soon filled with people, 
and the services began. Singing was fol¬ 
lowed by Scripture reading. Then there 
was more singing, followed by prayer. 
At last the pastor arose and ignoring the 
topic that had been announced the previ¬ 
ous Sabbath, tried to repeat portions of 
sermons that he had recently preached. 

Quietly and in a natural tone of voice, 
but with force and earnestness, he warned 
his hearers against expecting peace of con¬ 
science while indulging in selfish propen¬ 
sities, and charged them not to look for 
lasting happiness in worldly practices. 


COMMITTEE 


17 


Then he dwelt on the importance of 
prayer and the absolute need of frankness 
with God. Forgetting the presence of 
strangers, he referred to an incident con¬ 
nected with his work. The pathos of the 
story touched the hearts of all, and it 
would have been well had he closed his ad¬ 
dress, but, glancing across the room, he 
observed that the three visitors were giv¬ 
ing him the closest attention. It pleased 
but embarrassed him, and he determined 
to deepen the favorable impression that 
he believed he had made. Raising his 
voice, and sawing the air with his hand he 
talked on. Realizing that he was not ac¬ 
complishing what he intended, he spoke 
still louder and began to emphasize his 
words by pounding the desk. When he 
sought only to help the people he was elo¬ 
quent; when he tried to make a favorable 
impression he became commonplace and 
weak. 

At last he waved his hand toward the 
ceiling and with one final effort, exclaimed: 
“Oh, my brethren, I charge you for your 
own good. Fly away from the turmoil 


18 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


of daily life to the mount of God and bathe 
in the ocean of His love. Fly away from 
all spiritual conceits and bury yourselves 
in self-examination. Fly away from all 
wicked thoughts and sinful perplexities to 
some barren solitude, and drink of the 
stream that flows from the celestial city. 
Fly away from your own wretched 
thoughts to the chamber of communion, 
and under the light of the star lit 
heavens hold fellowship with your Maker. 
Fly away, I say. Fly away and be at 
rest.” 

With another flourish of his hand he 
sat down and mopped his brow with his 
handkerchief; then he called on a man in 
the back of the room to lead in prayer. 
The prayer being offered, Mr. Soarer 
stated that he had observed some strangers 
and would be glad to hear a word from 
any of them. 

Mr. Ritchie arose at once, and was 
about to make some remarks when he was 
asked to come forward, which he did. 
Just as he reached the platform, some one 
who had been dozing called out: 


COMMITTEE 


19 


“Please sing one verse of hymn number 
ninety-three.” 

He meant to say “hymn number thirty- 
nine.” It so happened that hymn num¬ 
ber ninety-three was intended for use at 
christening services. 

In the confusion of the moment the min¬ 
ister repeated the number that was given 
without looking in the hymn-book, and 
Mr. Ritchie stood on the platform and 
smiled beneficently as he waited. With 
one voice they sang: 

“This child we dedicate to Thee, 

O God of grace and purity; 

Shield it from harm and threatening wrong 
And let thy love its life prolong.” 

Several young people laughed, others 
raised their voices to drown the sound of 
levity, others held their books high and 
looked over the tops at Mr. Ritchie’s beam¬ 
ing countenance while they bit their lips 
in determined effort to hold themselves in 
control. Mr. Soarer turned very red in 
the face and tried to interrupt the singing, 
but failed. Mr. Ritchie, in obliviousness 


20 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


of what was being sung, became radiant at 
the evident enjoyment of the people and 
his face glowed with pleasure. 

When the singing was finished he spoke 
of his appreciation of the privilege of be¬ 
ing present at the service and his delight 
at being permitted to hear the address of 
the pastor; then he made a few remarks on 
the necessity of fellowship with God, and 
took his seat. 

After prayer another hymn was sung, 
and an old man arose. He was the senior 
deacon of the church, respected and loved 
by all. There was instant quiet and at¬ 
tention. His trembling hand grasped the 
chair in front. He removed his spectacles 
and looked at the congregation. Then he 
spoke with paternal tenderness and affec¬ 
tion of the goodness of God, how the Eter¬ 
nal Father had strengthened him in re¬ 
peated trials, and led him through many 
hard experiences and had at last brought 
him, at the age of four score, to realize His 
continued abiding presence, how he had 
learned to trust the guiding hand of his 
heavenly Parent for the future, and would 


COMMITTEE 


21 


trust it until he came to see the divine 
glory. Finally he led the congregation in 
prayer, talking with God as with one who 
seemed real and near with whom he was 
conversing. After reminding God, in 
simplest language, of his daily prayer for 
the outpouring of the .Holy Spirit on the 
church and community, he prayed that a 
special blessing might rest on the beloved 
pastor and visiting strangers, and closed 
with a personal consecration of himself 
to God in words that thrilled the hearts of 
all who were present and made the little 
room seem like some holy of holies. 

“Fine meeting, ,, remarked Mr. Ritchie, 
as he walked with his companions back to 
the tavern. “Soarer gave us an excellent 
talk, full of practical suggestions and all 
that sort of thing. I think that it would 
be just as well for us to stay over Sunday 
and hear him preach.” 

“Well,” returned Mr. Stickler, “I don’t 
want to be obstreperous. You two gen¬ 
tlemen can stay if you want to do so, but 
it don’t seem to me worth while to waste 
the time. Soarer may have given us an 


22 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


excellent discourse, but on the whole it 
didn’t strike me that it would do in our 
church. Ritchie, I’d rather have you as 
my pastor, if you’d promise not to have 
any singing come before your sermons. 
What do you think about it, Moore?” 

“Better fly away to Vinton Village 
and hear Newhall. You know Dr. Butler 
wrote he was to preach there. I believe 
he’s next on our list,” replied the young 
man, “but if you want to know whom I’d 
like for a pastor, I’ll tell you. I’d like the 
old man. He’d do more to make me a 
better Christian than any minister that I 
know anything about. I wonder what 
made Soarer go on after he got through, 
and try to make the mill run by blowing 
on the wheels. The deacon could have 
given him a point or two.” 

The next morning the Rev. Mr. Soarer 
threw aside the two sermons that he had 
prepared for the next Sunday. Then he 
looked over his manuscripts and selected 
others that he thought would create a 
more favorable impression. Having thus 
adjusted himself to circumstances, he 


COMMITTEE 


23 


donned his best clothes and proceeded to 
Griglie’s tavern for the purpose of paying 
his respects to the committee and inviting 
the members to occupy the pastor’s pew 
on the coming Sunday. What was his 
dismay, on reaching the place, to discover 
that the three strangers had left town im¬ 
mediately after breakfast. 


M THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER III 

ON THE WAY TO YINTON VILLAGE 

“Carriage to Vinton Village? Car¬ 
riage, sir?” called out a burly driver as he 
pointed the stock end of his whip toward 
a three-seated vehicle, and at the same 
time reached out his hand to take Mr. 
Stickler’s suit-case. 

“Plow much will you charge to drive the 
three of us over?” Mr. Stickler inquired, 
as he peered at the man from under his 
dripping umbrella. 

“Three to Vinton Village? Seventy- 
five cents each,” returned the man, as he 
again attempted to possess himself of the 
suit-case. 

Instead of yielding to the driver’s 
wishes, Mr. Stickler drew back and said 
to his companions in a low voice: 

“Seventy-five cents for each of us, two 
and a quarter for the three, and it’s only 
three miles over. It’s the most extrava- 


COMMITTEE 25 

g ant charge that I ever knew, perfect rob¬ 
bery !” 

Mr. Ritchie, being more intent on get¬ 
ting under cover than anything else, heard 
only the words “seventy-five cents” and 
thrust his hand into his pocket, saying as 
he did so: 

“Extremely fortunate. Three miles is 
more than I want to walk in this rain and 
mud. Gentlemen, we’re in luck to have a 
conveyance waiting for us.” 

“Carriage? Carriage to Vinton Vil¬ 
lage?” This time the driver addressed an 
old lady accompanied by a bright-faced 
young woman, who was coming from the 
waiting room and who was looking around 
anxiously as though expecting some one. 

“Have you seen Mr. Stillman’s carriage 
anywhere about here?” the old lady asked, 
as she glanced first at the three men and 
then at the driver. 

“No,” the man answered, “and what’s 
more, I don’t reckon he’ll be here with the 
roads in such a condition. Better let me 
drive you over. There’s three seats, and 
if one of those gentlemen don’t mind sit- 


26 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


ting with me in front there’ll be plenty of 
room.” 

“Let me sit in front,” said Mr. Ritchie, 
as he lowered his umbrella and turned his 
genial face toward the newcomers. The 
water that had dripped on his spectacles 
and that stood in great drops on his cheeks 
looked like tears of merriment that had 
remained to tell of some recent burst of 
laughter, and the two ladies smiled as they 
turned toward him. 

“No, indeed!” broke in Mr. Stickler, 
as he sought, in the spirit of gallantry, to 
push his companion aside. “That’s my 
seat by right of inquiry. I was the first 
to speak to the driver.” 

“Boys are always under the special 
charge of the whip,” said Bently Moore, 
as he stepped forward, “if the ladies will 
accept of my assistance and take the mid¬ 
dle seat, and if you gentlemen will climb 
into the back one, I’ll watch the horses.” 

“There’s plenty of room in the carriage, 
grandma,” the young woman remarked in 
a loud, clear voice as she drew her aged 
companion toward the vehicle. 


COMMITTEE 


n 


The horses jogged along the muddy 
road with an even gait, as though they 
were quite used to the work in which they 
were engaged. The driver kept up a con¬ 
tinual clicking sound with his mouth, occa¬ 
sionally varying the exercise by snapping 
his whip and calling out to the plodding 
beasts, “Git up there, git up!” The de¬ 
mand seemed to produce no other effect 
on the animals than to cause them to toss 
their heads, shake their bodies and splash 
the mud a little harder. 

They had gone about a mile when 
Bently Moore turned around and re¬ 
marked to the old lady who was sitting in 
an upright position with her eyes closed: 

“This is a fine shower that we are hav¬ 
ing. It will be appreciated by the farm¬ 
ers after the drought. The grass needs 
it very much.” 

“Hey?” she returned, opening her eyes. 

“The gentleman said that the grass 
needed rain very much,” Mr. Ritchie ex¬ 
plained. 

“Hey?” she repeated, still more em¬ 
phatically as she turned toward him, and 


28 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


adjusted her spectacles so as to get a bet¬ 
ter view of his face. 

“Oh, yes, yes, certainly,” he answered, 
not understanding her reply. “Yes, cer¬ 
tainly, of course. The rain will help the 
grass so that it will make better hay.” 

“What’s that? Hey? hey? hey?” she 
exclaimed, turning quickly from one to 
another. 

“Git up there, git up,” shouted the 
driver. 

“Grandma, the gentleman said that the 
grass needed the rain very much,” ex¬ 
plained the young woman, in a clear voice. 
Then addressing Mr. Ritchie she re¬ 
marked, “Grandma is a little hard of hear¬ 
ing.” 

“I understand,” the old lady replied. 
“I understand. The rain’s good for noth¬ 
ing when the grass is in its present condi¬ 
tion. Of course it’s ruined by this time.” 
Then she settled back in her seat, the 
driver gave another crack with his whip, 
and there was silence for a few moments. 

Finally Mr. Ritchie touched the young 
woman on the shoulder, and with good- 


COMMITTEE 


29 


humored familiarity said, “We are stran¬ 
gers, having just arrived from Eagle- 
town. Are you familiar with Vinton Vil¬ 
lage?” 

“Yes, somewhat,” she replied, as her 
bright eyes encountered those of her ques¬ 
tioner. “I live in Westwood, but 
Grandma lives in Vinton Village. She 
has been visiting us, and I’m going home 
with her for a little visit.” 

“Ah, indeed!” he returned. “From 
Westwood, you say? Perhaps you know 
a certain clergyman who lives there, by 
the name of Van Cloud, Rev. Woolworth 
Van Cloud?” 

“I should think I did,” she exclaimed 
with delight. “He’s my father. Do you 
know him?” 

“Your father! Well, that’s a coinci¬ 
dence,” he replied. “No, I’m not ac¬ 
quainted with him except by reputation. 
I hope, however, to have the privilege of 
meeting him a week from to-morrow, 
when my friends and I anticipate the 
pleasure of hearing him preach. We will 
be glad to tell him of this pleasant meet- 


30 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


ing. He will occupy his own pulpit on 
that day, will he not?” 

“Why, yes, I suppose so,” she answered. 
“He said nothing about being away, when 
I left home.” 

“Hey? What’s that?” broke in the old 
lady. 

“The gentleman says that he expects 
to be in Westwood and hear father preach 
a week from Sunday,” she explained. 

“No. I’ve just come from there,” she 
returned. “What does he want me to go 
back for?” 

Mr. Ritchie cleared his throat, leaned 
over toward the old lady, and in a loud, 
cheery voice explained, “I was just say¬ 
ing that I was expecting to go to West- 
wood myself next week.” 

“Oh, that’s another matter,” she re¬ 
turned, and settled back in her seat again, 
while the driver clicked at his horses and 
snapped his whip. 

“I understand that there’s a clergyman 
at Vinton Village by the name of New- 
hall,” said Mr. Stickler, in determination 
to keep up the conversation and secure 


COMMITTEE 


31 


information. “A Rev. Nathaniel Crane 
Newhall. Can you tell us in which church 
he preaches ?” 

“Perhaps it’s in the Scranton Road 
Church,” she answered. “There are only 
three churches in the place, and I’m very 
sure that it isn’t either of the other two. 
The Scranton Road Church is the one 
Grandma attends, and it is without a pas¬ 
tor. I believe the people are hearing can¬ 
didates.” 

“Oh, then I shall hope to see you to¬ 
morrow,” observed Bently Moore, as he 
tipped his hat in acknowledgment of the 
anticipated pleasure. 

“Hey? What’s that?” broke in the old 
lady. 

The young woman’s cheeks turned a 
deeper tinge as she raised her voice and 
remarked, “The gentlemen expect to at¬ 
tend the services of the Scranton Road 
Church to-morrow, and want to know 
whether we will be there.” 

“If the Lord permits, I shall be in His 
sanctuary on the holy Sabbath,” she re¬ 
turned, as she crossed her hands in her 


32 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


lap in testimony of her piety. “I hope 
that the gentlemen don’t think that I’m 
a heathen and a publican.” 

There was silence for some time. The 
rain had cleared away and the blue sky 
showed itself in patches between the over¬ 
hanging clouds. The sunlight, shining 
through a rift, caused the foliage to sparkle 
in the reflection of its silver glow and led 
the travelers to roll up the curtains of 
the carriage and look out on the landscape. 
As the vehicle turned the summit of the 
hill the men looked down on the little vil¬ 
lage of Vinton, nestling among the trees 
in the valley and surrounded by farm and 
pasture lands. 

“Isn’t it just lovely,” exclaimed the 
young woman as the hamlet came in sight. 
“I think that there’s no place in the world 
like Vinton. And there’s Grandma’s 
house right down there by that large red 
barn, a little to the left. You can tell it 
by the big tree in the road. The stream 
is just a little way back.” 

“Oh, yes, yes, I see it,” exclaimed the 
men. 


COMMITTEE 


“What a good God we have to make 
such a beautiful world,” remarked Mr. 
Ritchie in the spirit of religious fervor as 
he gazed at the clustered houses and the 
surrounding hills, now smiling in the 
brightness of the returning sunlight. 

“Hey? What’s that?” again broke in 
the old lady. 

“I was saying—” began Mr. Ritchie. 

“A little louder!” she interrupted. 

“Git up there, git up,” shouted the 
driver, as if in answer to the request. 

“I was just saying,” he repeated, “that 
God was very good to make such a beauti¬ 
ful world.” 

“It was built by my father in eighteen 
hundred and thirty-five,” she replied. “I 
was a mere chit of a child then, in blue 
frocks. I remember it well. That wing 
that you see by the tree I put on myself 
when I was first married.” 

In a few moments the carriage swung 
into the main street and after stopping in 
front of the old lady’s house, went on to 
the tavern where the three men found com¬ 
fortable entertainment. 


34 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


Sunday morning was bright and beau¬ 
tiful. The mud had nearly disappeared, 
and the trees and shrubbery, washed by 
the recent rain, shone with brighter green. 

Mr. Ritchie went to the window, before 
he had completed his dressing, and, look¬ 
ing out, declared to himself that there 
never was such a charming day. His 
heart glowed with warmth and pleasure as 
he took a long breath of clear country air. 
Then he looked up and down the road. 

“God is good! God is good!” he re¬ 
peated aloud as he leaned further out over 
the sill. 

Just at that moment he noticed a boy 
driving some cows to pasture. He was 
coming down the road toward the tavern 
and Mr. Ritchie waited. 

“Good morning, my fine fellow,” he 
called out. “Good morning! It’s a 
charming day, isn’t it?” 

The boy turned and looked at him in 
evident astonishment. 

Intent on securing some kind of com¬ 
panionship in his pleasure, Mr. Ritchie 
beckoned to the lad and at the same time 


COMMITTEE 


35 


flung a coin out into the road. “There! 
That’s for the joy of living,” he said, as 
the money rolled off into a rut. 

The boy was either slow of comprehen¬ 
sion or was stupefied by Mr. Ritchie’s gen¬ 
erosity, for he only glanced at the coin 
and turned his gaze again toward the win¬ 
dow. 

Mr. Ritchie laughed heartily and point¬ 
ing toward the money called out: 

“That’s for you, my fine fellow, for you. 
God’s goodness ought to make us all 
happy on such a morning as this.” 

The lad slowly walked over to where 
the silver piece lay glittering in the har¬ 
dened mud, and after looking again at 
Mr. Ritchie, as if to make sure of his san¬ 
ity and sincerity, picked it up and said in a 
low voice, “Thank you, sir,” and immedi¬ 
ately ran after the cows as if he were 
afraid that he might be called back. 


36 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER IV 

SERMON AND SOCIABILITY 

When the church bell rang its closing 
triple call to service, the three men en¬ 
tered the Scranton Road Church. The 
small auditorium was well filled with 
country folk. On the other side of the 
room from that on which Mr. Ritchie and 
his friends had entered, old Mrs. Van 
Cloud sat bolt upright, at the end of a pew 
near the pulpit. Her garments were of a 
fashion that prevailed a quarter of a cen¬ 
tury before. Two white curls fell outside 
her quaint bonnet, concealing a portion of 
the bows of her gold spectacles that were 
held far back on her small well-formed 
nose. Her whole appearance was that of 
antiquated gentility and self-conscious 
importance. Her granddaughter Emily 
sat by her side looking prettier, if possible, 


COMMITTEE 


37 


than she did the day before. The girl’s 
youthful appearance, composure of coun¬ 
tenance and graceful posture distinguished 
her from others, while her well-fitted white 
lawn dress and airily trimmed straw hat 
contrasted charmingly with the costume of 
her aged companion and the more showy 
garments of the young people in the con¬ 
gregation. 

Soon the preacher of the day entered 
the pulpit. He was a man not over 
twenty-seven years of age, with an intelli¬ 
gent countenance, clean-shaven face and 
bright eyes that twitched with nervous em¬ 
barrassment as he took his seat and bowed 
his head in silent prayer. His well- 
brushed frock coat, high-cut waistcoat and 
evenly folded white cravat showed that he 
recognized the importance of care in the 
matter of ministerial dress. 

Having raised his head, he opened a 
hymn-book and turned, or rather jerked, 
the leaves over until he found the first 
hymn that was to be announced, and 
marking the place with a slip of paper, 
closed the volume and laid it on the table 


38 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


at his side. Glancing through the pulpit 
notices he arranged them in order and then 
took his sermon that was carefully folded 
in a limp-leather cover, and put it on a 
shelf behind the desk. 

Having thus prepared himself for the 
duties of the hour, he looked at the con¬ 
gregation. In a moment his eyes fell on 
Emily Van Cloud, who at once became 
deeply interested in her gloves. Then he 
drank some water from a glass that stood 
on the table and turned his attention to the 
other side of the room where he observed 
the three strangers who, he perceived did 
not belong to the farming community 
about the village and wondered who they 
were and where they came from. 

Finally the organ began to play. The 
congregation arose and sang the doxology, 
and the young minister led the devotions 
of the people with reverence, but with con¬ 
straint. 

When the time for preaching came, he 
laid his handkerchief on the table, took 
another swallow of water, and placed his 
manuscript on the open Bible. Then he 


COMMITTEE 


39 


announced his text which was found in the 
First Epistle of Peter, the second chapter 
and the fifteenth verse. Then he told the 
people that he would speak on the subject 
of “The Abecedarian ignorance of the 
Church regarding fundamental truths.” 

The sermon had been prepared with 
great care and had evidently cost the 
young man many hours of work, but it 
showed that, while he was not without abil¬ 
ity, he was more anxious to promulgate 
his theories than to bring his hearers nearer 
to God. As he came to the end of his 
discourse, he stepped back from the desk, 
stretched out both his hands and with one 
final oratorical effort, quoted a dozen lines 
from Milton’s Paradise Lost and then 
called the congregation to prayer. His 
borrowed statements, positive assertions, 
striking quotations and forced eloquence, 
together with the earnestness of conviction 
with which he seemed to speak, impressed 
many of the people with a sense of his 
great ability, but left them self-satisfied 
and indifferent to the claims of Christ on 
their lives. 


40 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


Scarcely had the service closed than Mr. 
Ritchie turned to his companions with a 
smile, and said, “Well, now, that’s what 
I call preaching. Fine, wasn’t it?” 

Mr. Stickler shrugged his shoulders and 
replied, “Perhaps, but I’ll be hanged if I 
could make out what the man was driving 
at.” 

Bently Moore said nothing, but that 
evening he entered in his note-book: 
“Heard a fellow by the name of Newhall 
to-day. Large upper story filled with 
cobwebs. Outside walls in good state of 
preservation, but an excessive number of 
angles. Clapboards fresh and free from 
dust marks, but showed evidences of being 
prepared for inspection. Strange how 
some men are always trying to make peo¬ 
ple recognize their ability and accept their 
notions, when simplicity, directness and 
practicability count for so much more in 
the world.” 

As the three men walked down the aisle, 
Mr. Ritchie turned to one and another in 
the congregation and greeted them with a 
smiling face and hearty handshake. His 


COMMITTEE 


41 


cordiality won recognition for him on 
every hand, and his words of commenda¬ 
tion about the preacher and the sermon 
were appreciated. Mr. Stickler spoke 
only to those who spoke to him, and 
wedged his way through the throng as 
rapidly as he could without seeming to be 
in haste. But Bently Moore held back 
with the evident intention of meeting Mrs. 
Van Cloud and Emily. 

In a few moments he came face to face 
with the old lady and her granddaughter, 
hut the minister was with them and he 
could do no more than shake hands and 
renew the acquaintance that he had made 
on the previous day. It was evident that 
their companion was being entertained or 
had been invited to dine at the Van Cloud 
mansion, for he accompanied them on 
their return home. 

Reaching the tavern, Mr. Moore asked 
Mr. Ritchie whether he had brought the 
letter that had been received commending 
the Rev. Woolworth Van Cloud, of West- 
wood. On being informed he had, Mr. 
Moore borrowed it, and after reading it 


42 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


through several times returned it to his 
companion and then, leaning back in his 
chair, closed his eyes in thought. Sud¬ 
denly he roused himself and, taking a rail¬ 
road timetable from his pocket, began to 
study it. Then he closed his eyes again 
and remained quiet for some moments. 

Rising at an early hour the next morn¬ 
ing, he hurriedly dressed himself and go¬ 
ing to the window looked out. Nothing 
was to be seen but a long stretch of road, 
flanked by maple trees, with here and there 
a house nestling in the green. He had 
not remained at the window more than 
twenty minutes when he saw a carriage 
coming. It was evidently on its way to 
the railway station. As it passed the tav¬ 
ern, he noticed that there was only one 
person within, whom he soon recognized 
as the young preacher of the day before. 
The recognition seemed to afford him con¬ 
siderable satisfaction, for he smiled as he 
turned quickly away from the window and 
remarked to himself: “The early worm 
may catch the bird at his breakfast, but 
he’s a fool of a worm if he stays where the 


COMMITTEE 43 

bird will see him.” Then he went down¬ 
stairs. 

After breakfast he excused himself to 
his friends and walked to Mrs. Van 
Cloud’s residence. When he reached the 
house, he knocked at the door, and in a 
few moments Emily made her appearance. 
Noticing that he showed surprise at seeing 
her, she laughed in a bright, cheery way, 
and after heartily wishing him “Good 
morning,” asked if he had come to see her 
grandmother. 

Entering, he explained that he had 
called early that he might have the pleas¬ 
ure of a brief visit with Mrs. Van Cloud, 
but did not wish to interrupt her at her 
breakfast, and that, if she were still at the 
table, he would wait. She led him to the 
parlor and, after calling the old lady, re¬ 
turned, seated herself near the window, 
and entered into conversation with him. 

Her vivacious manner, dancing eyes, 
quick, intelligent thought, and almost au¬ 
dacious questions and remarks so embar¬ 
rassed and enraptured him that he 
scarcely knew what he said, and considered 


44 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


himself the stupidest kind of a man in 
conversation. At the same time he wished 
that Mrs. Van Cloud would delay her com¬ 
ing. 

It was not long, however, before the old 
lady appeared. She was dressed in black 
with a snow-white cap on her head. 
The same gold-rimmed spectacles that she 
wore on the way from the station and at 
church were perched on her nose. When 
she entered the room Emily excused her¬ 
self, and he drew his chair up near the old 
lady. 

Straining his voice, he began at once 
to inquire after her health and then, by 
patient repetition, made her understand 
that he had come to inquire about her 
son who was preaching at Westwood. 
On hearing her son’s name mentioned she 
smiled with evident gratification and be¬ 
gan at once to give a detailed account of 
his childhood; how he had endured with 
patience the mumps, measles and scarlet 
fever; how he had narrowly escaped fall¬ 
ing from a roof, being run over by a loco¬ 
motive and being drowned in the canal; 


COMMITTEE 


45 


how he had shown unusual brightness of 
mind in school, college and seminary; how 
now in her declining years he watched over 
her with affection and solicitude; how, 
since he entered the ministry, he had 
shown wonderful ability as a preacher, 
having called together a large congrega¬ 
tion of devoted people who were affected 
to tears every time he preached; and how, 
notwithstanding his many virtues, she was 
not blind to the fact that he had the one 
fault of forgetfulness. 

When Mr. Moore spoke of the pleasure 
that he and his friends anticipated in hear¬ 
ing her son preach, and made inquiry re¬ 
garding the size of his church, she in¬ 
formed him that though the church was 
large, strong and very active, her son was 
anxious to change his field of labor on ac¬ 
count of a complaint some of the people 
had made regarding his absentminded¬ 
ness. 

“He’s very sensitive and can’t stand 
criticism,” she declared, “and has asked 
some of his ministerial friends to use their 
influence in his behalf, and he’s so popular 


46 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


that they’ve done it, and have sent his 
name to a number of vacant churches, so 
that there’s no doubt but that before long 
he will go where he and his family will be 
more thoroughly appreciated.” 

Then he asked about Mr. Van Cloud’s 
family, and was told that her son and his 
wife had three children, Emily and her 
two brothers, a boy ten years old, who was 
in school classes with boys of twelve and 
fifteen, and a baby boy two months old 
who was very precocious and sure to be a 
preacher on account of his dear winning 
ways and strong lungs. 

Having received all this information, 
Mr. Moore adroitly inquired whether she 
and her granddaughter had been long 
acquainted with the Rev. Mr. Newhall, 
whereupon she told him that while she 
had only recently made his acquaintance 
she knew that he came from a good fam¬ 
ily, was unusually promising and withal 
was just such a person as she liked Emily 
to know. 

This last remark did not altogether 
please her caller, for he twisted in his 


COMMITTEE 


47 


chair and began more earnestly to ingra¬ 
tiate himself in the old lady’s good opin¬ 
ion. 

As he arose to go she detained him with 
the request that before leaving he would 
spend a few moments reading to her, 
which, though his voice was very husky 
from loud speaking, he promptly con¬ 
sented to do. 

Leading him to a cozy little sitting- 
room, she handed him a copy of “Baxter’s 
Saint’s Rest.” This he read until it 
seemed as though his throat would no 
longer permit him to speak; so he lowered 
his voice. This did not disturb the old 
lady in the least, for she kept on nodding 
her head in approval, and occasionally in¬ 
terrupted him by saying, “That’s so. 
That’s all true—true as the Gospel.” 

When he closed the book and was 
again about to leave, she handed him a 
copy of Village Hymns. He read several 
of the selections, which pleased her very 
much, for she kept up a low murmur as 
though trying to sing the tunes as in 
former years. Finally she handed him 


48 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


the Bible and requested him to read a 
chapter. The hook-mark, she said, would 
indicate where she had left off. The 
mark had evidently been misplaced, but 
realizing that she did not hear him he did 
as he was told and read the eighth chapter 
of First Chronicles, when he came to the 
twenty-fourth verse she interrupted him 
by saying. “How beautiful, oh how 
perfectly beautiful!” 

At last he was able to take his leave, 
but not before he had received an invita¬ 
tion to call again and dine with Emily and 
herself. The invitation amply repaid him 
for all the discomfort of the morning, and 
he turned away with pleasant memories of 
his visit. 

As he left the house he saw Emily in 
the garden and paused to speak to her, 
but conversation was almost impossible on 
account of his hoarseness. Yet he could 
listen, and her merry laugh rang in his 
mind long after he had reached his room. 


COMMITTEE 


49 


CHAPTER V 

THE BEACONHILL CONVENTION 

Mr. Ritchie, having heard some one 
at the tavern say that there was to be a 
convention of ministers the next day at 
Beaconhill, communicated the fact to his 
companions and declared that, as Beacon¬ 
hill was only twenty miles distant, the 
committee should attend and meet the 
delegates. Pie felt sure, he said, that it 
would be a good opportunity to see a 
number of clergymen and compare them 
with those that they had heard, and that 
it was possible Providence might cause 
them to there make the acquaintance of 
the right man for the Harksborough pas¬ 
torate. 

“It’s all nonsense to expect to find the 
right minister for our church at any cleri¬ 
cal gathering,” returned Mr. Stickler. 
“Parsons don’t meet to preach, and what 


50 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


we want is to hear preaching, but, as this 
place isn’t any place to stay, and there are 
several days before Sunday, I won’t be 
obstreperous. If you two men want to 
go to the convention I’ll go along.” 

“This isn’t any place to stay?” repeated 
Bently Moore in evident surprise. 
“Why, I think that it’s just the loveliest 
spot on the universe. We couldn’t find 
a more restful and quiet village in which 
to remain until Saturday. Besides, we’re 
not wanted at the convention and have no 
business there.” 

As Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Stickler could 
see no reason for remaining where they 
were, Mr. Moore finally consented to go 
to Beaconhill on condition that, as he had 
an engagement to dine with Mrs. Van 
Cloud, he might be allowed to return on 
Thursday morning. 

It was nearly noon when the three men 
reached Beaconhill. After making in¬ 
quiries they found the church where the 
convention was held. A man was read¬ 
ing a report when they entered, so they 
took seats near the door and waited for 


COMMITTEE 


51 


him to finish. After the reading, the re¬ 
port was discussed by several of the dele¬ 
gates. Then the pastor of the church 
gave notice that luncheon was ready and 
would be served in the basement, and that 
all who were present were cordially in¬ 
vited to remain. 

A motion to adjourn was quickly fol¬ 
lowed by a general movement toward the 
stairs. 

As the members of the committee felt 
it incumbent upon them to meet so many 
of the ministers as they could, they agreed 
that it would be advisable to accept the 
proffered hospitality of the pastor and 
take their luncheon at the church. 

On the way down stairs, Mr. Ritchie, in 
search of information, put his hand famil¬ 
iarly on the shoulder of a stranger who 
happened to be walking by his side. The 
man turned, and seeing his companion’s 
bright, cheery countenance, grasped his 
hand with both of his and shook it heartily. 

“Glad to see you! Very glad to see 
you,” he declared, “but you have the ad¬ 
vantage of me, Doctor—, Doctor—” 


52 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


“My name is Ritchie, Jonathan Ritchie, 
of Harksborough, he explained. 

“And mine is Pattengill. P-a-t, Pat. 
The name of the gentleman from Dublin 
when he firsts lands. T-e-n, ten. The 
amount you and I look for when we marry 
the young folks, and g-i-1-1, gill. The ap¬ 
pliance that fishes find useful for respira¬ 
tion. Ha! ha! ha! Guess you won’t for¬ 
get my name now, will you, Dr. Ritchie?” 

“Forget it? Why, I couldn’t forget it 
if I tried,” returned Mr. Ritchie, as he 
joined the man in a hearty laugh. “And 
now, Mr. Pattengill,” he continued, “I 
want to say that I consider it a special 
providence that I met you, for you no 
doubt know all the ministers here and can 
do me a great favor.” 

Mr. Pattengill dropped Mr. Ritchie’s 
hand and repeated, “A great favor, eh?” 
and then drew back to take another look 
at him. 

“You see,” said Mr. Ritchie, “my 
friends here and I constitute a committee, 
delegated by the Harksborough Church 
to recommend a pastor to take the place 


COMMITTEE 


53 


of Dr. Downey, who has left us, and we’re 
looking around for the right man. We 
don’t know any of the clergymen here and 
I’ll esteem it a great favor if you will give 
me a few points regarding them. We 
want a first-class man, you understand— 
an all-round man. You know the kind I 
mean.” 

“Oh! ah!” returned Mr. Pattengill, as 
he again seized Mr. Ritchie’s hand and 
shook it with renewed fervor. “You’ve 
come to just the right person. I’ll put 
you on track at once, and consider it a 
pleasure. I’m what you call a board man 
and know the makeup of almost every 
minister in our denomination. B-o-a-r-d, 
board—a plank on which to walk, and 
m-a-n, man—a fellow whose business it is 
to walk it. See? Ha! ha! ha! Now 
there are a number of all-right men here, 
just the kind you ought to have. I’ll 
introduce you to some of them after 
luncheon and you can interview them for 
yourself. I congratulate you, Mr. 
Ritchie, on coming to this convention and 
on making yourself known to me.” Then 


54 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


he inquired regarding the location of the 
Harksborough Church, the size of the par¬ 
sonage, the salary that was paid, the num¬ 
ber of enrolled members, the estimated 
value of the property, and the seating 
capacity of the auditorium. 

Before the delegates took their seats at 
the long tables that had been spread for 
them, Mr. Pattengill was seen in earnest 
conversation with several ministers, while 
casting side glances at Mr. Ritchie and 
his friends. In a few moments Mr. Pat¬ 
tengill introduced the moderator of the 
convention to the three members of the 
Harksborough committee who invited 
them to seats with him at the head of the 
table. 

During the meal the moderator and one 
or two others so directed the conversation 
with their guests that they informed them¬ 
selves of the exact requirements of the 
Harksborough Church. 

After luncheon Mr. Ritchie and his 
friends were presented to a rather pom¬ 
pous little man by the name of Smokam, 
who had a habit of lifting his shoulders 


COMMITTEE 


55 


while talking. He gave them a lengthy 
account of his work in Willingford, and 
declared that while he did not usually ap¬ 
prove of Christians forsaking their own 
places of worship, his evening congrega¬ 
tions were largely made up of people from 
other churches who flocked to his services 
to hear his sermons. 

Then another rather tall man by the 
name of Cogswell was introduced, who 
talked to them at some length on the im¬ 
portance of loyalty to one’s own denomina¬ 
tion. 

Mr. Stickler was annoyed by the atten¬ 
tions that he received, and continually 
urged his companions to go outdoors with 
him and regale themselves with cigars, 
but Bently Moore seemed to enjoy talk¬ 
ing with the ministers and laughed and 
joked familiarly with them, while he 
promptly complied with the request of 
several who desired their addresses re¬ 
corded in his note-book. 

Mr. Ritchie was delighted with the in¬ 
terest that so many seemed to take in 
the Harksborough Church, and showed 


56 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


his appreciation by listening attentively to 
the reports and addresses that were 
made. 

In the afternoon the Rev. Chauncey 
Freeshackle read a paper on the crying 
need of broad men in the American pulpit. 
The address had been carefully prepared, 
and the reader was evidently anxious that 
the Harksborough visitors should hear 
what he had to say, for he persistently 
glanced over to the place where they were 
sitting. Stimulated by the smiling coun¬ 
tenance and approving nods of Mr. 
Ritchie, he became more earnest and shook 
his clenched hand at the congregation for 
emphasis and conviction. Happening to 
notice Mr. Stickler’s unsympathetic face, 
long-drawn brows, set lips and wearied 
expression, he ceased using his fist and 
substituted a more rapid delivery. Turn¬ 
ing again toward the three men, he ob¬ 
served that Mr. Moore was writing in his 
note-book, and thinking that the young 
committeeman was recording portions of 
his address, he observed him more closely 
and, when he saw the pencil in use, re- 


COMMITTEE 


57 


peated his statements so as to give ample 
time for accurate inscription. 

Had the Rev. Chauncey Freeshackle 
been able to see what was being written, 
he might have read Mr. Moore’s own ob¬ 
servations on the subject under considera¬ 
tion. They were as follows : 

“Some broad-minded men are narrow 
in spots and some narrow-minded men 
are broad in spots. 

“Men who boast of their broad-minded¬ 
ness are generally not broad enough to 
regard with charity those whom they 
think are narrow. 

“It is often very difficult to distinguish 
between a broad little man and a narrow 
big man. 

“The best place to secure a broad out¬ 
look is from a narrow viewpoint. 

“Looking through the small end of the 
telescope may give a broad vision and look¬ 
ing through the large end may give a nar¬ 
row vision, but it doesn’t make any differ¬ 
ence with the size of the things that are 
seen. 

“Paul was broad-minded when he 


58 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


wanted to comprehend the breadth and 
length and depth and height of Christ’s 
love, and he was narrow-minded when he 
said: ‘This one thing I do: I press to¬ 
ward the mark.’ I believe that the best 
men are both broad and narrow. 

“People needn’t tell me that all narrow¬ 
minded men are bigots and all broad¬ 
minded men are infidels. It’s just as easy 
for a narrow-minded man to be an infidel 
and a broad-minded man a bigot as to be 
anything else. 

“Some men are too ignorant to know 
why they are broad-minded or narrow¬ 
minded. It takes a wise man to be either 
one or the other and know the reason. 

“I’ve noticed that there’s a big dif¬ 
ference between broad-mindedness and 
large-mindedness. Some small-minded 
men spread out their thinking in such thin 
layers that they look broad. 

“The narrowest-minded man that I ever 
met was a fellow up our way who used to 
get mad because his next-door neighbor 
was so narrow. And the broadest-minded 
man that I ever met was that same neigh- 


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59 


bor who thought that his ill-tempered 
critic was not in the least narrow. 

“It’s strange, but it’s true, that narrow¬ 
minded men almost always brag about 
their breadth, and broad-minded men, if 
they are truly broad, keep still.” 

That evening and during the next day, 
the committee listened to other papers, 
and to the discussion of other subjects, and 
were interviewed by other ministers. 

On leaving, Mr. Ritchie declared that 
the committee had never done a wiser 
thing than to go to Beaconhill. That the 
privilege of becoming acquainted with so 
many intelligent Christian men and listen¬ 
ing to them speak on important themes 
was enough to justify the visit. When it 
was considered that the committee had 
also received the names and addresses of 
several fine ministers who would, he was 
sure, more than meet all the requirements 
of the Harksborough Church, he felt it 
incumbent upon him to say that they had 
been directed by a divine Providence. 

Mr. Stickler lifted his brows, drew his 
lips together, and waited for Bently 


60 THE HARKSBOROUGH 

Moore to express his opinion; but as 
Moore seemed deep in thought, he turned 
to his companion and said: 

“Well, Ritchie, I wish that I could 
squeeze nectar out of sawdust the way you 
can. ‘Intelligent Christian men’! I sup¬ 
pose so, but ‘important themes’! Perhaps 
they were to you and Moore, but I’ll be 
hanged if I could make out what they 
were all about. As to ‘names and ad¬ 
dresses,’ I should think we had several of 
them. I’m beginning to believe that 
every minister is either just settled or 
looking for a place. I’ll leave it to you, 
Moore, if I’m not right.” 

Bently Moore looked at his companions. 
Then slowly drawled out, as though he 
were speaking to himself: 

“I think that I never learned so much 
in my life. Out of the fifty and more 
ministers, most of whom I met in one way 
or another, only three or four sought 
either directly or indirectly to get an op¬ 
portunity to preach in Harksborough. 
I’ll venture to say the names that the other 
two members of the committee put in their 


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61 


note-books are the same that I put in mine. 
I was beginning to think with Stickler 
that ministers were all divided into two 
classes, the ‘just settled 5 and the ‘want to 
be settled 5 when I went to that convention. 
There I found a large number of splendid 
men who seemed satisfied with working 
the best they knew how, leaving the field 
to God, and my respect for the ministry 
has as a result greatly increased. On the 
whole they were thoroughly in earnest and 
conscientious. In addition to the three or 
four names that were given to me, I have 
a few others that I sought myself. They 
were not the names of officious men who 
seemed to like to hear themselves talk and 
who took every opportunity that offered, 
to express their opinions, but the names of 
those who seemed to have some definite 
reason for speaking and had a spiritual 
purpose in what they said. I 5 m going to 
look into their work. Perhaps some one 
of them may meet our requirements. 
What puzzled me was how any well-mean¬ 
ing, sensible men like Freeshackle could 
get so worked up over nothing and keep 


62 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


blowing as you might say through pipe- 
stems into soapy water the way he did, 
stirring up a perfect mountain of pretty 
bubbles, and how all the rest could sit still 
and see him do it. Now I propose that 
we go back to Vinton Village and think 
over what we’ve seen and heard. I’ve 
taken a severe cold, and do not want to 
expose myself to any more church 
draughts until next Sunday; besides, I 
have an invitation to take dinner with 
Mrs. Van Cloud.” 

The three men boarded a train and 
were soon speeding on their way back to 
Vinton Village. When the cars stopped 
at Harringsford, Mr. Moore noticed the 
entrance of Rev. Mr. Newhall and at once 
engaged his two friends in earnest conver¬ 
sation, so that neither of them observed 
the young minister’s presence. 


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63 


CHAPTER VI 

THE LITTLE POSTMAN 

The next day when Bently Moore drew 
near Mrs. Van Cloud’s residence he saw 
two people strolling under the trees a 
short distance from the house. As he 
drew nearer he observed that the man was 
Rev. Mr. Newhall, and that the pink sun- 
bonnet close to the man’s shoulder shaded 
Emily’s laughing face. 

A scowl darkened his countenance for 
an instant; but it was quickly followed by 
a smile and he passed through the gate 
and ascended the front steps. A maid 
responded to his knock and he was ushered 
into the parlor. As the blinds had been 
closed and the shades drawn, the room was 
dark and cool. Coming out of the bright 
light, it was some moments before he could 
see the furniture, but he managed to find 
a chair near the window and seated him¬ 
self. 


64 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


By the time Mrs. Van Cloud entered 
he had become accustomed to the darkness 
and, although he could not entirely shake 
off his annoyance at seeing Mr. Newhall, 
he arose to meet the old lady as she ad¬ 
vanced to welcome him. 

After inquiring about her health, he 
gave her a rather lengthy account of the 
convention at Beaconhill, and dwelt par¬ 
ticularly on such matters as he thought 
would be of special interest to her. Then 
he asked whether it would be agreeable 
for him to call again the next day and read 
to her. 

The old lady’s eyes sparkled with de¬ 
light at the request, and she assured him 
that nothing would give her greater pleas¬ 
ure than to have him come, but inquired 
whether he could not also spare some time 
that very day. 

“I am sorry,” he said, “but the truth is, 
I have a severe cold and my throat is in 
bad condition.” Then he added: “If 
you would like to listen to reading to-day 
I have no doubt that the Rev. Mr. New¬ 
hall would esteem it a privilege to gratify 


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65 


you. He is an excellent reader, as you 
very well know—” 

“But he isn’t here yet,” she broke in, 
“and we’ve been expecting him for this 
last half hour.” 

“I think that you are mistaken,” he re¬ 
plied. “He came somewhat earlier than 
I did, and is in the garden with Miss 
Emily—” 

“Hey! hey! what’s that?” she exclaimed, 
putting her hand to her ear. “Say that 
again. You tell me that he’s here, that 
he came before you, and that he went off 
with my granddaughter before paying his 
respects to me? You must be wrong. 
Mr. Newhall is a gentleman.” 

At that moment the maid appeared 
in the open doorway and announced din¬ 
ner. 

When the minister entered with Emily, 
the old lady welcomed him with glacial 
politeness and, looking keenly at him over 
the rims of her spectacles, asked whether 
he had just come. 

The young man was somewhat embar¬ 
rassed at the question, and glanced at 


66 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


Emily. Then, assuming an air of confi¬ 
dence, he assured her that he had reached 
the house a short time before, but had re¬ 
mained outside for a moment to speak to 
her granddaughter. 

She said no more, but fixed her eyes 
sharply on him and then looked at the 
young girl, who was gazing at the minister 
with a serious but puzzled expression, 
quite unusual to her. 

During the dinner Mr. Newhall de¬ 
voted himself almost entirely to Emily, 
and Bently Moore sought in every way he 
could to ingratiate himself in the good 
opinion of Mrs. Van Cloud. 

On rising from the table the old lady 
told Mr. Newhall that it would be a grati¬ 
fication if he would spend a little time 
reading to her. Though manifestly an¬ 
noyed by the request, he expressed his 
willingness to comply with her wishes and 
followed her into the sitting-room, while 
Mr. Moore and Emily went out under the 
trees. 

Taking no interest in the book that was 
handed to him, he read along monoto- 


COMMITTEE 


67 


nously and twisted in his chair, impatiently 
waiting for his release. 

She observed his restless movements, 
and held him more persistently to his task, 
manifesting a keen interest in every page 
that he read. 

As Bently Moore and Emily drew near 
the hedge that separated the Van Cloud 
premises from that adjoining, they ob¬ 
served a young woman on the other side 
of the hedge playing with her five-year- 
old boy. Emily went forward at once 
and spoke a few pleasant words to her 
neighbor and the child, and then returning 
to her companion, led him through the 
orchard to a clump of trees near the house. 

Seating themselves under the branches 
of a widespreading maple, they talked for 
half an hour. 

“Yes, I know all about ministers and a 
good deal about churches,” she declared, 
as Moore tried to give her a description of 
some man whom he met at the Beaconhill 
convention. “You see, I belong to a min¬ 
ister’s family, and while I know that there 
are a few spider spinning, long-winded and 


68 THE HARKSROROUGH 


nagging preachers, as you say there are a 
good many more who, though they might 
not be able to stand cartooning, are as 
good and true as can be. People that 
look for crooked sticks are sure to find 
them even though the yard is full of 
straight ones. I don’t want to say that 
you are that way, for you just said that 
most ministers were doing splendid work, 
but there are a great many people who 
forget that there are fussy and fossilized 
churches where a man couldn’t do a good 
work if he tried.” And her merry laugh 
rang out through the tree branches. 

“I’d take you for a preacher any day,” 
he replied, ‘‘and be satisfied to sit under 
your sermons every Sunday. I think you 
must inherit the ability to interest and in¬ 
struct others. No danger of your work¬ 
ing a hobby to death or theorizing a con¬ 
gregation to sleep.” 

She laughed again and pushed a stray 
lock of hair back from her forehead; then 
she threw a bunch of clover blossoms at 
him and retorted: 

“So you think that while I am not no- 


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69 


tional or speculative, I might have the gift 
of continuance and might nag a congrega¬ 
tion if I tried?” 

“No, I didn’t say so,” he retorted, “but 
if you’ll be my pastor I’ll promise to let 
you preach as long sermons as you like 
and nag me all you please. I think I’d 
like it.” 

Just at that moment the child that they 
had seen in the next yard pushed through 
the hedge and came running to them with 
a slip of paper in his hand. 

“Well, Frankie, what have you brought 
me?” she asked, as she took the paper from 
him. 

“Me an’ mamma’s playin’ poch-office,” 
he answered. 

“So this is a letter that my little post¬ 
man has brought me,” she remarked, as 
she unfolded the missive and read: 
“Frankie and I are having a great time. 
I’m Uncle Sam and he’s my postal deliv¬ 
erer, and I send you this as your part in 
the game.” 

Tearing off a portion of the paper and 
borrowing a pencil from her companion, 


70 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


she wrote: u Your dear little carrier 
brought the mail safely and delivered it 
with a bright face. He will be always 
welcome.” 

The child was off in an instant, and be¬ 
fore many moments had elapsed was back 
again with tousled hair, panting breath 
and a merry countenance. This time he 
had a letter for Mr. Moore, which was 
duly answered. 

They saw the child running to rocks and 
stones, trees and stumps, delivering and 
receiving imaginary mail, but the human 
interest being lacking, the boy became 
wearied and begged: 

“Mamma, me want to take letter to 
Grandma Van Cloud.” 

The mother readily complied with the 
child’s request and wrote on a piece of 
paper: 

“This little missive is sent to ask 
Grandma Van Cloud to give the bearer 
one of her bright smiles and sweet kisses.” 

Just as the child ran across the lawn 
toward the house with his letter, Mr. New- 
hall came out and started toward the 


COMMITTEE 71 

grove where Moore and Emily were 
seated. 

Wearied with his play and anxious to 
return to his mother, the boy met the 
young clergyman and, with the familiarity 
that belongs to childhood, thrust the note 
into the man’s hand with the request: 

“Mister, I’s tired pla’ing poch-man. 
Won’t you please give this to Grandma 
Van Cloud for me?” 

Mr. Newhall was on the point of refus¬ 
ing when he noticed the child’s pleading 
face, and feared that non-compliance 
might be followed by a loud howl of dis¬ 
appointment. He could see that Moore 
and Emily were both looking at him, so 
he quickly took the letter and turned back. 

Mrs. Van Cloud had been considerably 
agitated in her mind over the young 
clergyman’s behavior, and had with diffi¬ 
culty kept from openly rebuking him for 
his conduct. She was not therefore in any 
condition to palliate further offenses. 

Receiving the note that the young man 
handed to her with explanation that she 
did not hear, she adjusted her spectacles 


n THE HARKSBOROUGH 


and, after glancing over them at him, read 
what had been written. 

In a moment her eyes flashed in anger 
and, trembling with excitement, she rose 
from her chair and exclaimed: “Hey! hey! 
what you say? You give me this?” 

The old lady’s temper was so great and 
her hearing so difficult that he made up 
his mind to proffer no further explana¬ 
tions and was about to turn on his heel and 
leave when he thought that the contents 
of the note might in some way compromise 
him, so he bit his lips and, while the blood 
mounted to his face, he stood his ground 
and tried to make her understand that he 
was only acting in behalf of the child. 

“The little boy out there on the lawn,” 
he said, “asked me to bring it to you and 
I did so to please him.” 

“Hey! hey! What’s that?” she ex¬ 
claimed, without understanding a word 
that he had said. “No, I won’t An old 
woman like me. You snipper-snapper! 
you snipper-snapper! In my own house, 
too.” 

He tried to speak again, but hesitated 


COMMITTEE 


73 


in his efforts to command himself, and she 
repeated in great excitement: 

“You snipper-snapper! you snipper- 
snapper!” 

Raising his voice he made another effort. 
“The little boy out there with Mr. Moore 
and Miss Emily—” 

“Emily! Emily!” she broke in, “and you 
meant to give this to Emily, did you? 
You tell me to my face that you meant to 
give this to Emily? You snipper-snap¬ 
per! I won’t have such goings-on. No, 
I won’t. She’s my granddaughter, and 
as long as she’s under my roof she’s under 
my protection. You go home, and don’t 
you ever set your foot in my house again, 
you snipper-snapper! You write such a 
note as this! It’s outrageous, simply out¬ 
rageous. Now go!” 

He tried to explain again, but the old 
lady’s excitement and deafness made it 
impossible, and he was about to turn away 
when Mr. Moore and Emily, hearing their 
voices, hurried to the house. 

When Mrs. Van Cloud handed her 
granddaughter the note and declared that 


74 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


Mr. Newhall had intended it for her, the 
young girl’s face blushed scarlet, and she 
seemed uncertain whether to laugh or be 
indignant. Quickly recovering herself, 
she tore the paper in pieces and, without 
looking at the young minister, explained 
Frankie’s play and was soon able to quiet 
her grandmother. 

When Mrs. Van Cloud thoroughly un¬ 
derstood the matter she offered the young 
man a formal apology and, in order to 
make amends for her unjust accusations, 
extended another invitation for him to 
come and dine. 

Soon after the two young men took 
their leave. Mr. Newhall never accepted 
the invitation, but Bently Moore called 
the next day and spent an hour reading to 
the old lady. 


COMMITTEE 


75 


CHAPTER VII 

TAGGING MINISTERS 

The bustling city of Westwood was 
situated about fifty miles north of Vinton 
Village, but the railway connections were 
so poor, that it generally took a full half 
day to reach the place. 

As the three men stepped from the cars 
and entered the waiting-room at Chanic- 
town Junction to await the train that 
would take them to their destination, they 
found that it was full of travelers, men, 
women and children. As the air was 
close, and as it would be a considerable 
time before they could proceed on their 
journey, they left their baggage at the 
news-stand and went out for a walk. 

The railway shops and round-houses be¬ 
ing located at the place, most of the men 
living there were employed by the road. 

The streets were narrow and dirty, the 


76 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


houses plain and dingy, and the churches 
small and unattractive. Mr. Ritchie and 
his friends determined to go to the out¬ 
skirts of the town, where they hoped to 
find some cool retreat. Following the 
main street they came upon an old stage 
road. After pursuing their way for a 
short distance, they climbed a fence and 
sought the shade of some trees. 

“I tell you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Stick¬ 
ler as he picked up some small stones and 
flung them into a brook twenty feet dis¬ 
tant, “I’m getting tired of this whole busi¬ 
ness, Here we’ve been on the go, good¬ 
ness knows how long, and heard a few 
ministers and met a lot more, and we 
haven’t found one that will fill the bill. 
And what’s more, there doesn’t seem to be 
any prospect of our finding any that are 
at all suitable for our church. If it’s hard 
for a clergyman to get a pulpit, as they 
say it is, it’s a mighty sight harder for a 
pulpit to get a clergyman of the right 
sort.” 

“Nonsense, nonsense!” replied Mr. Rit¬ 
chie. “You can’t find any one because 


COMMITTEE 


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you and Moore here are too finical. I 
could pick five or six among those that we 
have met who would be entirely satisfac¬ 
tory. Why, it’s as easy to get a minister 
as it is to close your eyes when you’re 
sleepy.” 

“Well, there’s one thing that’s certain,” 
remarked Mr. Moore. “If we haven’t hit 
on the right person we’ve hit on a lot of 
experiences, and that’s considerable. A 
man isn’t any less human because he’s set 
apart to preach. He’ll have his personal 
characteristics, agreeable and disagreeable, 
after he’s ordained just the same as before. 
I’m not speaking anything against the 
profession when I say that ministers are 
all tagged and labeled just as we are. 
Now there was Soarer. I call him Fly¬ 
away—he gave himself that name. And 
there was Freeshackle; I call him Sir 
Chauncey Smirk on account of the way he 
had of keeping his face screwed up into a 
perpetual smile. And there was New- 
hall; I call him Natty Bandbox, because 
he was so stiff in the pulpit and so spick 
and span about his clothing. And there 


78 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


was that fellow with sandy hair that we 
met at Beaconhill; I call him the Blank 
Cartridge, because he was so explosive in 
his speech and said so little. And there 
was Pattengill; I call him the spellbinder 
on account of his fondness for spelling out 
words. And there was that little man 
that took every opportunity that he could 
to get up and say something at the conven¬ 
tion; I call him the Drum Major, because 
of his size and manner. And there was 
Sleighman or Slightman, or something of 
that sort; the tall fellow that wanted us to 
promise him a hearing in our church, and 
that told us about the Board men and Doc¬ 
tors of Divinity that would recommend 
him. I call him Tuft Hunter. And 
there was Parson Aeronaut, and the Rev¬ 
erend Cambric Tea, and Dominie Patch- 
worker, and Pastor Prattler, and a lot of 
others whom it would be easy enough to 
tag. If it hasn’t been valuable experience 
for us to meet all these men and read their 
labels, then I don’t know what experience 
is.” 

“Moore, you’re a croaker!” put in Mr. 


COMMITTEE 


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Ritchie, “you can’t see any good in any 
one. The ministers are not labeled at all 
except in your imagination. They are all 
first-class men, and most of them are 
plenty good enough for Harksborough.” 

“Perhaps they’re too good,” returned 
Mr. Moore. But it’s not my imagination 
that labels them, it’s their gifts or pecul¬ 
iarities or something else. If you and I 
were ministers we’d be labeled too; per¬ 
haps we are, anyway. You just called me 
a croaker. The trouble is, not that min¬ 
isters are inefficient and have peculiarities, 
but that they are so often misplaced. An 
organizer, for example, gets into a church 
that is already organized and his natural 
proclivities lead him to overdo the matter, 
and he introduces more machinery than 
the people can run. A parish worker as¬ 
sumes a charge that demands strong 
preaching, and a man of marked pulpit 
ability goes where house to house visiting 
is more greatly needed. A story-teller 
tries to help people of argumentative 
minds, and a financier seeks to control the 
temporal affairs of an organization that 


80 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


is already well managed. A socializer 
dances attendance to a lot of clodhoppers, 
and a rustic thinks that he can minister to 
gentlefolk. You cannot expect any one 
man can have every grace and talent and 
suit every church alike. All that you can 
expect is that a minister should be an hon¬ 
est, intelligent, spiritually-minded man, 
and adapted to the most pronounced need 
of the church to which he is called.” 

“Well, they needn’t all try to make out 
that they’re great,” declared Mr. Stickler, 
“because they’re not.” 

“There I think you’re wrong again,” re¬ 
turned Mr. Moore. “Every minister is 
great, or ought to be, along some particu¬ 
lar line of service, but it need not prevent 
his trying to be faithful along other lines. 
I don’t object to a man cultivating his tal¬ 
ents. What I object to is his cultivating 
hobbies and calling them talents, and be¬ 
littling the real talents of others. When 
one minister talks about the big horn he 
blows and another talks about the sweet- 
toned piccolo he plays, as though there 
were no other instruments in the orchestra, 


COMMITTEE 


81 


it makes me cross. I don’t like to judge 
motives, but it seems to me that the Di¬ 
rector up there is the one to say which is 
most important,” and Bently Moore 
pointed up at the blue sky gleaming 
through the branches. 

“Yes, and I notice that the man with the 
horn and the piccolo will think more of 
their pay than their music,” persisted Mr. 
Stickler. “The first question they ask is, 
‘How much salary does your church 
give?”’ 

“Well,” said Mr. Ritchie, “I suppose 
that salary means as much to them as to 
others. I know I wouldn’t stand the criti¬ 
cism they get and do the work they do for 
double the money that most of them re¬ 
ceive. If churches want to pull and haul 
their ministers around, and talk about 
them the way they do, they ought to pay 
well for the privilege.” 

“Ha! ha!” laughed Mr. Moore. “There 
you’re touching a tender spot, as we our¬ 
selves haven’t been doing much else than 
criticise ministers. But I agree with you 
that churches ought to pay their pastors 


82 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


good, fair salaries and then stand by them. 
I don’t much believe in the theory of so 
much pay, so much preach; it’s too much 
the theory of the slot machine. Every 
workman ought to be generously compen¬ 
sated for his services, but he ought not to 
give his services merely for compensation. 
There’s the biggest kind of a difference be¬ 
tween pay for work and work for pay.” 

“Tweedledee and tweedledum,” re¬ 
turned Mr. Stickler. “I suppose Van 
Cloud will come next on your list to label.” 

“I hope that he will be the right man,” 
Mr. Moore replied. “His old mother told 
me that his only fault was absent-minded¬ 
ness. I am sure that I should not object 
to that if she means heavenly mindedness. 
What I want is a prophet and not an es¬ 
sayist. 

“One thing I want to speak about. It 
has occurred to me that it’s hardly fair to 
ministers when we hear them only once 
and then judge them on the basis of that 
one sermon. There may be a hundred 
contingencies that would make a fine 
preacher deliver an occasionally poor ser- 


COMMITTEE 


83 


mon; besides, the best sermons are always 
to be continued in our next. So I move 
that we hear Van Cloud at least three or 
four times if he seems at all desirable—” 

“No time for that,” interrupted Mr. 
Stickler; “we’ve hardly time to hear him 
once. I’m most ready to give up this com¬ 
mittee job now, and let Harksborough 
Church call whom it pleases. This tramp¬ 
ing around the country and accomplishing 
nothing isn’t to my liking.” 

The other two laughed in reply, and, 
watches being consulted, it was found that 
their train was scheduled to start in fifteen 
minutes. 

“Come, we’ll have to hurry,” Mr. Moore 
called out as he rose to his feet. “And 
hereafter let us look for a man rather than 
a minister. I reckon that he’ll be harder 
to find.” 


84 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER VIII 

TWO MEN AND A BABY 

On reaching the railway station they 
found that the train was a full half hour 
behind time, and they took seats in the 
waiting-room and tried to pass the time as 
comfortably as they could. 

Mr. Stickler and Mr. Moore continued 
their conversation regarding churches and 
ministers, while Mr. Ritchie watched the 
restless people about him with boyish in¬ 
terest and amusement. 

“If there’s any one that I abominate,” 
said Mr. Stickler, striking his knee for em¬ 
phasis, “it’s a ramrod preacher, a man who 
is always trying to crowd his theories and 
notions down my throat.” 

“ And if there is any that I abominate,” 
returned Mr. Moore, “it’s the preacher 
that gives me the chance to dodge. When 
a man hasn’t fire enough in his sermon to 
send conviction to my heart straight and 


COMMITTEE 


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quick, I draw down my shoulders and let 
the charge go over me—” 

Mr. Moore had no sooner uttered the 
words when Mr. Ritchie thrust his el¬ 
bow into his side. He had been watch¬ 
ing a young man on the other side of the 
room, who was ineffectually trying to 
quiet a crying baby who was squirming 
and making vigorous efforts to get from 
his lap to the floor. 

“I say, Stickler—Moore,” said Mr. Rit¬ 
chie, with suppressed excitement, “that 
fellow over there has got himself in a heap 
of trouble.” 

“How? Where?” they both asked to¬ 
gether. 

“Why, just as we came in here,” he an¬ 
swered, “I saw a tall, black-eyed woman 
go up to him and ask him to hold her baby 
for her. I thought at the time that she 
was putting up a game on him and kept 
my eyes open. The baby was fast asleep 
and the fellow was innocent enough to fall 
right into the trap. For the last ten min¬ 
utes he’s been looking all around for her, 
but she’s evidently made good her escape. 


86 THE HARKSBOROUGH 

One has to be mighty careful about ac¬ 
commodating strangers.” 

“You don’t say so,” returned Mr. Stick¬ 
ler. “Well, that’s what comes of letting 
one’s self be imposed upon. Ritchie, 
you’d have done the same thing. You’re 
always asking the privilege of being 
some one’s pack-horse. I hope now 
you’ve learned a lesson.” 

“He’s evidently a stranger in these 
parts and don’t know what to do,” said 
Mr. Ritchie, totally ignoring his compan¬ 
ion’s reproof. “He’s anxious and worried. 
I believe I’ll go over and speak to him. 
There’s a station-house up the street. 
You remember we passed it coming down. 
He might explain his situation and leave 
the child there. Poor fellow!” 

Having thus spoken he went over to 
where the young man was struggling with 
the infant, and with a benign smile said: 

“I’m very sorry for you, sir. I saw 
from where I was sitting that your good 
nature had been sadly imposed upon, and 
I thought that I’d just come and offer my 
sympathies and assistance.” 


COMMITTEE 


87 


The young man looked at him for an in¬ 
stant, and then, without paying any fur¬ 
ther attention to his offer, began to shake 
a bunch of keys in front of the child. 

“I don’t want to destroy your confi¬ 
dence in human nature,” continued Mr. 
Ritchie, “but I’m afraid that the woman 
who gave you the child will never return 
to relieve you.” 

“She’ll come back all right,” the man 
asserted, without looking up. 

“No, she won’t,” Mr. Ritchie insisted. 
“She intends to get rid of her offspring 
and saddle it on you. Now I’m an older 
man than you are and have had consider¬ 
able experience in the world. Let me 
give you a little advice and possible help.” 

“You can’t do anything,” was the man’s 
laconic answer, as he turned his face to 
avoid a blow from the baby’s open hand. 

“Perhaps not, perhaps not, but then I 
can try, you know,” and he removed his 
spectacles and wiped them with his hand¬ 
kerchief in anticipation of the pleasure 
that he was to have in rendering assistance. 
“You see, I’ve been walking about town 


88 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


a little with my friends. We passed a 
station-house not far from here. The 
idea came to me as I sat over there watch¬ 
ing you, that possibly you didn’t know 
there was such a place near, and I said to 
myself, ‘Well, now, I’ll just go over to 
the station-house with that young man and 
the baby and try and induce the police 
sergeant to take the child off his hands.’ 
I’ve no doubt but that he’d do it. There 
must be a foundling asylum near here 
where the little one could be properly 
cared for.” 

“What do you mean, sir?” returned the 
man as he deposited the infant on the floor 
and rose to face Mr. Ritchie. His cheeks 
were aflame and his eyes flashed as he 
shook his fist close to that gentleman’s 
nose. “What do you mean, sir, by insinu¬ 
ating that I should hand my baby over to 
the police and have it put in a foundling 
asylum. Do you mean to insult me?” 

“Not at all, not at all,” Mr. Ritchie re¬ 
turned, as it dawned upon him that he had 
made a mistake. “I beg your pardon. I 
supposed that the woman who left the 


COMMITTEE 89 

baby in your arms was an impostor. That 
was all.” 

“An impostor, an impostor? My wife 
an impostor? You scoundrel! How 
dare you?” he screamed, as he shook his fist 
again in Mr. Ritchie’s face. Then he 
grabbed him by the collar and would have 
given him a severe handling had not his 
words and action started an uproar in the 
waiting-room. Women hurried to the 
door, pulling their children after them, 
and men leaped forward to separate the 
two men. 

“Hands off!” shouted one. “Let him 
alone!” said another. “What’s the mat¬ 
ter?” inquired a third. “Call the police!” 
demanded a fourth. 

“Here! here!” Mr. Moore interposed, 
as he wedged his way through the crowd 
and tried to pull the young man back. “I 
know that gentleman, and he’s all right.” 

“He isn’t a gentleman! He isn’t all 
right,” was the man’s angry retort. “I 
won’t let any man insult me. He came 
over here, and, because the baby was cry¬ 
ing, said that he’d take us both over to the 


90 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


station-house and have my child put in a 
foundling asylum. I resented his impu¬ 
dence and he called my wife an impostor. 
The scoundrel!” Then he made another 
dash at Mr. Ritchie’s throat, but was held 
back. 

“Let me explain,” said Mr. Ritchie. 
“Let me just explain,” but before he could 
do so a policeman whom some one had 
called entered, and Mr. Ritchie and the 
young man were led to the station-house. 

Mr. Stickler and Mr. Moore followed 
close beside them, and a crowd of loungers 
and street urchins thronged about the 
party until they reached the police head¬ 
quarters and were taken inside. 

Standing before the sergeant’s desk, 
Mr. Ritchie made his explanation, which 
was confirmed by his companions and ac¬ 
cepted by the young man. Then they 
were all discharged and returned to the 
waiting-room. 

On their way back they were met by the 
young man’s wife, who, hearing of her hus¬ 
band’s arrest, was hurrying in great excite¬ 
ment to the station-house. 


COMMITTEE 


91 


Delayed by the necessity of repeated ex¬ 
planations and quieting assurances, they 
reached the railroad too late for the train. 
Whereupon Mr. Ritchie invited the young 
man and his wife to take luncheon with 
him, and they all went to a small restau¬ 
rant and, after spending a half hour at 
the table, separated in good spirits. 

As Mr. Ritchie shook hands in parting 
with his new-made friends, he slipped a 
dollar bill in the baby’s fist and smilingly 
assured them all of his best wishes. 

“Fine young people,” he remarked to 
his companions; “very promising infant. 
Embarrassing incident, but it all worked 
out for the best.” 

On reaching Westwood late that after¬ 
noon, they went at once to the leading 
hotel. During that night it rained quite 
hard, so that the next morning they found 
the walks wet and the crossings muddy. 
But the sun was shining and the sky gave 
promise of clear weather. 

On entering the Rev. Woolworth Van 
Cloud’s church they were agreeably im¬ 
pressed by the neatness and cleanliness of 


92 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


the room, the quiet dress and reverent de¬ 
meanor of the congregation, and the court¬ 
esy of the ushers. 

No sooner were they comfortably seated 
well toward the front of the room than 
Mr. Ritchie noticed an offensive odor, as 
of escaping gas, but said nothing about it 
to his companions. 

Soon the organ began to play, and the 
Rev. Mr. Van Cloud stepped out on the 
platform accompanied by a stranger of 
portly build, with a bald head and solemn 
face. 

Mr. Stickler leaned over to Bently 
Moore and said: “I am afraid that Mr. 
Van Cloud isn’t going to preach!” 

A shadow of disappointment passed 
over Mr. Moore’s face as he returned in a 
low voice: “How beautiful are the feet 
of them that preach the gospel of peace 
and bring glad tidings of good things.” 

Mr. Stickler was evidently puzzled by 
the words, for he looked at him inquir¬ 
ingly. Then he turned his eyes toward 
the pulpit and observed that Mr. Van 
Cloud had forgotten to remove a large pair 


COMMITTEE 93 

of arctic overshoes which he had worn to 
the church. 

The opening services being over, the 
pastor announced a praise meeting to take 
the place of the regular evening service, 
and a lawn-party supper and sale of fancy 
articles by the ladies of the church on 
Wednesday evening. Then he introduced 
the Rev. Dr. Skane, who, he said, was an 
old friend and who would preach that 
morning. The stout man with the bald 
head and solemn face stepped forward, 
placed a manuscript on the open Bible, 
cleared his throat, announced his text, and 
proceeded to preach in a dull, lifeless way. 
He had drawled along for three-quarters 
of an hour when Mr. Van Cloud observed 
the listlessness of the people and an un¬ 
usual movement of their faces, as if an¬ 
noyed by some odor. In a moment he 
caught the smell of gas that Mr. Ritchie 
had noticed on entering. Rising, he put 
his hand on the preacher’s shoulder and 
said: 

“I beg your pardon, Dr. Skane, for in¬ 
terrupting, but I notice that there is con- 


94 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


siderable waste of gas that is annoying to 
the congregation. I should be pleased if 
the sexton would open the ventilators.” 
Then he sat down. 

The people smiled. Dr. Skane turned 
red in the face, and, hurrying over the re¬ 
maining pages of his manuscript, took his 
seat. 

Bently Moore opened the memoran¬ 
dum-book and wrote: “Every sermon has 
its good points and is useful in one of two 
ways: either to kindle a flame of devotion 
and purpose in the human heart, or to 
kindle a flame of fire in the kitchen stove. 
This morning we heard a Dr. Skane, who 
did not put a blaze in his sermon and 
should therefore have put his sermon in a 
blaze.” 

At the close of the service the committee 
remained to introduce themselves to Mr. 
Van Cloud, who, when he knew of their 
errand, was greatly disappointed at hav¬ 
ing a stranger in the pulpit. As there was 
to be a praise meeting in the evening, he 
urged them to remain over for another 
Sunday. 


COMMITTEE 


95 


Mr. Moore, knowing that Miss Emily 
was expected to return home on Tuesday, 
was insistent on the committee’s extending 
its stay until the following week, to which 
both Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Stickler agreed. 


96 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER IX 

A POPULAR PREACHER AND A LAWN PARTY 

“I propose/” said Bently Moore, as he 
leaned over the dining-table in the act of 
helping himself to a fresh supply of pota¬ 
toes, “that we do not go to the praise meet¬ 
ing this evening. Mr. Van Cloud doesn’t 
preach. It would be better to visit some 
other church and listen to a sermon. By 
embracing every opportunity that we have 
of hearing ministers, we may stumble on 
the right man.” 

“I think myself that it would be wise to 
hear as many sermons as we can,” returned 
Mr. Ritchie, “but as we are, in a sense, on 
the Lord’s business, it seems to me that 
‘stumble’ is not just the right word to use. 
It would be better to say that, by entering 
every door that Providence opens, we may 
be led to discover the right man—” 

“Well, I don’t see as it makes much dif- 


COMMITTEE 


97 


ference what you call it,” broke in Mr. 
Stickler, “as long as we find the right man. 
So I propose that we go to the Market 
Street Church and hear the Rev. Cecil 
Kitlet Dingley, and be prepared to 
‘stumble’ or be ‘led,’ as it may happen. 
The clerk in the office told me this morn¬ 
ing that Dingley was the most popular 
preacher in town—an all-round, up-to- 
date man who catches the crowds. He’s 
going to preach this evening on ‘The Sub¬ 
limities of Celestial Life,’ whatever that 
may be. It is, however, a taking subject 
and I, for one, would like to hear what he 
has to say about it.” 

On entering the Market Street Church 
a few moments before the opening of the 
service, Mr. Ritchie and his friends were 
met in the vestibule by an affable young 
man with a pink flower in his buttonhole. 
He shook hands enthusiastically with each 
of them and, although he had never met 
them before, he told them of the great 
pleasure he felt in meeting them at that 
particular time. Then he passed them 
through the door with a celerity that 


98 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


showed considerable practice. Every pew 
was filled, but before they had time to 
wonder whether they would find a seat an¬ 
other affable young man with a white 
waistcoat and patent-leather shoes greeted 
them very cordially, and presented them 
with printed copies of the weekly calendar, 
containing the hymns that were to be used 
in the service, a picture of the pastor and 
a few church announcements, then he 
passed them along to another affable 
young man with a diminutive mustache 
and a pair of large eyeglasses, who, after 
receiving them with many smiles, led them 
down the aisle to camp-chairs near the pul¬ 
pit. 

Having successfully retained a pleased 
expression throughout the ordeal of recep¬ 
tion, and having endured with equanimity 
the pressure of several hand-grasps, they 
deposited their hats under their chairs, 
rubbed their aching fingers, relaxed their 
facial muscles and looked around. 

The congregation was composed for the 
most part of young people and strangers. 
On the platform, which was broad and 


COMMITTEE 


99 


deep, there was a large choir of whispering 
men and maidens. 

Soon the organ began to play, and the 
Rev. Cecil Kitlet Dingley entered from an 
adjoining room. As there was no desk to 
obstruct the view, the minister was the cen¬ 
ter of observation. His iron-gray hair, 
that fell almost to the collar of his lustrous 
black frock coat, his deep-set, beady eyes 
that glanced from one side of the room 
to the other in evident pleasure, and his 
pale face, that was rendered more strik¬ 
ing by his high cheek-bones and heavy eye¬ 
brows, were evidently objects of universal 
admiration, for there was an expression of 
satisfaction and expectancy on the faces 
of almost every one in the congregation 
when he made his appearance. 

The opening services being concluded, 
the minister stepped forward and, after 
silently viewing the audience for a few mo¬ 
ments, announced in a deep rasping voice 
that his text would be found in the sixty- 
fourth chapter of Isaiah and the fourth 
verse. Then he flung out his arms and 
said: “Brethren, this terrestrial sphere on 


100 THE HARKSBOROUGH 

which we live and move and have our be¬ 
ing is studded with sublimities unseen by 
mortal vision.” 

Having made this profound observation, 
he paused to allow time for the people to 
consider its full significance. Then he re¬ 
ferred to some microscopic discoveries and 
declared that men in coming time would 
make other discoveries that would astonish 
the world, and that while there were myr¬ 
iads of terrestrial substances wrapped in 
eternal mystery, there were far more sub¬ 
lime substances within the celestial spheres, 
some of which were to be revealed through 
revelation and others through resurrection. 
Then he described a number of death-bed 
scenes in which departing saints had seen 
heavenly visions and heard angelic voices; 
and told of experiences that had come in 
past ages to the old mystics, opening to 
them, as it were, the veiy door of heaven. 

After consuming some forty minutes in 
narrating with considerable dramatic 
power a number of unauthentic, but pa¬ 
thetic stories, and securing from his au¬ 
dience a copious discharge of tears, he 


COMMITTEE 


101 


threw back his hair, mopped his brow, and 
called on the people to bow their heads in 
prayer. 

Then he gave the Lord some informa¬ 
tion regarding Paradise and the occupa¬ 
tion of redeemed saints, which excited 
more tears from his congregation. 

Having uttered an Amen, he took his 
seat and four showily-dressed young peo¬ 
ple in the choir arose and, after looking at 
each other out of the corners of their eyes, 
sang about the angels. 

When the service closed, the affable 
young men who met Mr. Ritchie and his 
friends when they entered took them by 
the hand again and invited them to come 
on the following Sunday. 

Mr. Ritchie had listened to the sermon 
with great attention, and had rendered his 
handkerchief quite limp by the frequency 
with which he applied it to his eyes, and 
he could only express his admiration for 
the discourse by solemnly shaking his head 
and repeating to his companions, “Won¬ 
derful! wonderful; simply wonderful!” 

“Yes, I know it,” returned Bently 


102 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


Moore. “It was truly a wonderful ser¬ 
mon. I think it was one of the most won¬ 
derful addresses that I have ever heard; 
but what seemed to me the greatest won¬ 
der, was the fact that so many people felt 
inclined to go and hear it.” 

The next day, when alone with Mr. 
Stickler, he turned to him and said, 
“Stickler, that sermon we heard last even¬ 
ing was ’most as wonderful a production 
as the soup that we had for dinner.” 

“What do you mean?” Mr. Stickler 
asked. 

“Perhaps not quite so thin and spicy,” 
he explained, “but chicken? Oh, yes, in 
the sense that a plucked fowl may have 
run through it on stilts. I think I’ll tag 
Dingley ‘Broth.’ Don’t you think that 
would be appropriate?” 

“He said that his sermon was based on 
Isaiah sixty-four, four,” observed Mr. 
Stickler, “but it didn’t seem to me that 
there was a very close connection.” 

“He meant ‘basted,’ my good friend, 
only basted,” returned Mr. Moore; “big 


COMMITTEE 103 

stitches, Coats’ spool cotton number two 
hundred.” 

As the week was hanging heavily on the 
hands of the committee, it was agreed that 
it would be not only a diversion, but an op¬ 
portunity to meet the Rev. Mr. Van Cloud 
and his people socially, if they attended 
the lawn-party and fair that had been an¬ 
nounced the previous Sabbath morning. 

So, at the appointed hour, the three men 
went to the place that had been designated 
and, after paying their admission to the 
grounds, found themselves surrounded by 
the innumerable lights that came from 
Japanese lanterns swung from tree- 
branches and suspended lines. 

As they proceeded up the gravel walk 
toward a large house that was illuminated 
in every window, they were met by some 
pretty young women in fancy costumes, 
decorated with little blue ribbons that bore 
the inscription, “Reception Committee.” 
The young women introduced themselves 
in a pleasing way and offered to conduct 
the newcomers about the grounds and 


104 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


show them all the sales-booths and attrac¬ 
tive places. 

As the manners of the young women 
were exceedingly agreeable and their 
smiles extremely fascinating, it was al¬ 
most impossible for Mr. Ritchie and his 
friends to refuse the assistance that had 
been proffered, and they suffered them¬ 
selves to be led away. 

As they walked along, the young women 
pointed out a number of tents on which 
placards were posted. One was marked, 
“Gypsy Encampment: Grab-bag with 
trade privilege, five cents.” Another was 
marked, “Fish-pond, five cents a line.” 
Another was marked, “Plum-tree, ten 
cents a shake; every plum has a pit.” 
Another was marked, “Jack Horner, try 
your luck with the pie, five cents.” 

The members of the reception committe 
were so solicitous about the enjoyment of 
the men that they induced them to visit 
several of the tents, where they were sur¬ 
rounded by other pretty young women in 
costumes appropriate to their employ¬ 
ment, who explained the mysteries and 


COMMITTEE 


105 


opportunities of the schemes over which 
they presided, which resulted in the invest¬ 
ment of a number of dimes and nickels and 
the possession of some wooden toys and 
useless trinkets. 

On reaching the large house that stood 
far back from the gate, the men found the 
porch filled with tables where supper was 
being served by other young women in 
white lawn and pink. 

“I’ll tell you, Stickler!” said Mr. Rit¬ 
chie, “this is the sort of thing that gives life 
to a church and draws the young people. 
We ought to have some such affair in our 
church at home every year, and Van 
Cloud’s the man to stir us up to our duty.” 

Mr. Stickler had just at that moment 
discovered a room inside, over the door of 
which was a card bearing the inscription, 
“Art Gallery.” Without answering his 
companion he made a dash for the place, 
and, after paying for admission, gazed 
around. Seeing nothing but an array of 
crude drawings and household scraps gro¬ 
tesquely labeled with dignified titles, he 
quickly left by another door and fled to a 


106 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


seat under a tree at the further end of the 
yard, where he could quietly watch the fes¬ 
tive scene at a distance. 

When Bently Moore came near the 
porch he noticed Emily, who was acting as 
one of the waitresses, and, as no one was 
at her table, he left his companions, went 
over to where she was, and engaged her in 
conversation. 

Mr. Ritchie laughed and joked and kept 
up such a run of joviality with everyone 
that he was continually surrounded by a 
merry crowd that watched his every move¬ 
ment and joined in all his mirth-giving ex¬ 
periences. His cheeks glowed with un¬ 
usual warmth and his spectacles were so 
frequently dimmed with the tears of 
laughter that he wiped them every few mo¬ 
ments. Excited and pleased, his gener¬ 
ous impulses expressed themselves in mak¬ 
ing purchases from every sales-booth and 
taking chances in every raffle and polling- 
place. By the time he was ready for sup¬ 
per, all the buttonholes in his coat were 
decorated with small bouquets and all the 
pockets in his clothing bulged with newly 


COMMITTEE 


107 


purchased possessions of one kind and 
another—penwipers, match-scratchers, 
candy, kitchen-aprons, dust-caps, flatiron- 
holders, handkerchiefs, women’s collars, 
work-bags, dolls, and all the folds in his 
coat were drawn out of shape by the 
weight of his belongings. Three large 
cakes and two sofa-pillows, beside several 
other things, had been set aside for him. 
He had visited the art gallery three times, 
once to find Mr. Stickler and twice to 
laugh at the comical combinations. Sev¬ 
eral times he drew Mr. Moore away from 
the porch that he might show him some 
new wonder or ask his advice about the 
purchase of something that struck his 
fancy. At last, failing to secure Mr. 
Moore’s continued interest, he gathered 
the children about him and led them from 
the fishing pool to the cobweb tent and 
then to the peanut stand, and then to the 
lemonade table, treating them wherever he 
went, until several of the mothers, seeing 
that their boys and girls were in danger of 
overeating, rescued them from their gener¬ 
ous guide. In response to the solicita- 


108 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


tions of a young woman, he had his fortune 
told twice, and on being informed in the 
first instance that he was to marry a blonde 
maiden when he was fifty years of age, 
and, in the second, that he was to court 
and win a brunette at the age of forty- 
nine, he laughed heartily and declared 
that, inasmuch as he had already passed 
his sixtieth birthday and had the best wife 
in the world at home, who was neither 
blonde nor brunette, he must have his for¬ 
tune told the third time to find out the 
real truth. The fortune-teller, being in¬ 
formed of her previous mistakes, gave him 
a correct statement of the happiness that 
he might expect, which sent him again to 
Mr. Moore to narrate the story of his pros¬ 
pects. Then he hunted up Mr. Stickler, 
and the three men seated themselves at 
Emily Van Cloud’s table and ordered sup¬ 
per. 

No sooner had they finished eating than 
Mr. Stickler and Mr. Moore returned to 
their hotel, but Mr. Ritchie remained to 
enjoy himself to the very close of the en¬ 
tertainment. 


COMMITTEE 


109 


CHAPTER X 

TWENTY-FIVE HUNDRED MOSQUITOES 

The regular weekly prayer-meeting of 
the church was held on the next evening 
but the people were so wearied that few 
were present. Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Stick¬ 
ler declared that they were too tired to go, 
and so spent the evening smoking and 
chatting, but Bently Moore attended the 
service and was rewarded by seeing Emily, 
who played the cabinet organ. At the 
close of the meeting she accepted his prof¬ 
fered escort and walked with him to her 
home. 

“What did you think of the lawn 
party?” was almost her first question when 
they were beyond the hearing of others. 

“It was a pleasant gathering, and I en¬ 
joyed the supper very much,” was his re- 

ply- 

“Then you did not approve of every¬ 
thing?” she asked. “Don’t be afraid to 


110 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


confess, for I am perfectly willing to say 
that, had not father been the minister, I 
should have had nothing to do with it.” 

“Well, then, since you want to know my 
real opinion of such things,” he replied, 
“I’ll just say that I do not believe churches 
can lift themselves up by their boot¬ 
straps.” 

She laughed at his answer and then re¬ 
marked that she had never heard of lawn 
parties and church fairs being called boot¬ 
straps before, and asked whether he 
thought that they were as essential to reli¬ 
gious organizations as straps were to the 
old-fashioned boots. 

“Your question, to my mind, puts the 
matter in its true light,” he returned. 
“Something of the sort, eliminating the 
bad features, of course, seems justifiable in 
most churches for the sake of fellowship 
and sociability; perhaps also for money, 
but I don’t know about that; I haven’t 
made up my mind, conditions differ so 
much. When kept within reasonable lim¬ 
its, they are certainly helpful in many re¬ 
spects. But when barter schemes are re- 


COMMITTEE 


ill 


garded as essential to Christian service, 
and are depended upon by the people for 
the church’s financial support, then they 
become not only a burden, but quench the 
generous impulses of the members and be¬ 
come a menace to the spiritual work of 
the organization. Straps were excellent 
appendages to help our fathers pull on 
their boots, but they were utterly useless 
when employed to lift the body.” 

“I see what you mean,” she remarked, 
“and I do not know but that you are right. 
After last night’s affair, I felt as though 
everything of the sort was wrong, and 
father felt the same way.” 

“There’s a difference between making a 
racket and sawing wood,” he returned, and 
then there was silence for some minutes. 

When Bently Moore left Emily he 
turned his steps toward his hotel with a 
feeling of satisfaction. 

“Well, I’ve seen her two evenings in 
succession,” he remarked to himself. 
“Whether the lawn party was to be com¬ 
mended or not it paid me to be present, but 
this evening’s talk was worth twice as 


112 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


much. It just showed me the kind of a 
girl she is. I’d go ’most anywhere to have 
her company. I hope that her father will 
be called to Harksborough.” 

He had scarcely uttered the words, 
when turning the corner he passed a man 
coming from the opposite direction. 
There was something in his build and car¬ 
riage that seemed familiar. In a few mo¬ 
ments the man crossed the street and went 
toward Mr. Van Cloud’s residence, and 
Bently Moore followed until he saw him 
go up the minister’s steps, when, catching 
a side view of his face, he muttered some¬ 
thing to himself and walked rapidly away. 

“I thought it was Natty Band-Box,” he 
said, as he hastened toward the hotel. “I 
should like to know what business he has 
in Westwood, and at that house this time 
of night. Well, he’s got to get off the 
track or I’ll drive so close that he’ll feel 
uncomfortable.” 

Finding Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Stickler 
on the hotel porch, Bently Moore drew up 
a chair and, lighting a cigar, proceeded 
to give them an account of the service that 


COMMITTEE 


113 


he had attended. The mosquitoes were 
troublesome, and the three men tried to 
blow the smoke from their cigars in a way 
that would prevent the insects from com¬ 
ing near, but they seemed to understand 
the purposes of the men and attacked them 
at every opportunity. 

“How you two men have been able to 
stand this thing all the evening is more 
than I can see,” remarked Mr. Moore, as 
he slapped his neck in a vain effort to put 
one of the mosquitoes out of existence. 

“They drive me almost distracted,” re¬ 
turned Mr. Stickler, as he waved his hand 
to and fro in front of his face, “but there 
isn’t any place where you don’t find them; 
besides Ritchie here seems to enjoy them.” 

“He enjoys everything,” put in Bentlv 
Moore, as he remembered the lawn party 
of the previous evening. 

“Mosquitoes! Mosquitoes!” returned 
Mr. Ritchie. “What are you talking 
about? Pooh! pooh! There aren’t any 
mosquitoes around here; it’s all your im¬ 
agination.” 

A ten-year-old boy* son of the propri- 


114 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


etor of the hotel, was seen some fifty feet 
away. He was under the glare of an elec¬ 
tric light, and Mr. Ritchie called him. 

“Boy! boy!” 

The lad looked up as though expecting 
reproof, but seeing that Mr. Ritchie was 
beckoning to him, he reluctantly advanced, 
fearing lest he should be sent on some er¬ 
rand. 

“What’s your name?” Mr. Ritchie 
asked. 

“Dick!” was the boy’s reply. 

“Dick!” he repeated. “Well, now, 
that’s a good name, and it fits a good boy 
as closely as a night-cap fits a man with a 
clear conscience. Dick, I saw you over 
there under the light catching butterflies, 
and I thought that I’d just call and ask 
you whether you had seen any mosquitoes 
anywhere around.” 

The boy only grinned in reply, and Mr. 
Ritchie looked at his friends with a trium¬ 
phant smile. 

“There, you see,” he continued. “If 
this boy cannot discover any mosquitoes 
right under that light, how do you suppose 


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115 


you’re going to find any under the shadow 
of this porch ?” 

Bently Moore slapped the back of his 
hand and held up a dead mosquito by one 
leg. 

Without paying the slightest attention 
to this demonstration, Mr. Ritchie con¬ 
tinued, “Now, see here, my boy, I’ll tell 
you what I’ll do. You catch as many 
mosquitoes as you can and bring them to 
me dead or alive, and I’ll give you one cent 
for every ten of them.” 

The boy grinned again and went into 
the house. 

“I’ll sell you this one,” said Mr. Moore, 
still holding the insect that he had killed, 
between his fingers. 

“I’ll give you a dollar for it if that boy 
earns ten cents,” Mr. Ritchie responded. 
Then he took another puff at his cigar as 
if to close the subject. 

The next day Bently Moore watched his 
opportunity and made an excuse* for call¬ 
ing on Mr. Van Cloud, hoping that he 
would meet Emily; but a maid came to the 
door, and he saw only the minister. 


116 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


Sunday morning was bright and warm. 
Mr. Ritchie had risen early for the pur¬ 
pose of taking a walk, and was just in the 
act of lathering his face preparatory to 
shaving when he was startled by a loud 
knock at his door. Grabbing a towel, he 
hastily rubbed the soap from his cheeks 
and, slipping on a coat, went to give his 
caller admittance. 

To his surprise Dick was standing in the 
hall. He was holding three large pieces 
of paper behind his back. 

“I say, mister,” began the boy, “didn’t 
you say you’d give me a cent for every ten 
mosquitoes that I’d bring you dead or 
alive?” 

“Why, why—yes, I believe I did say 
something of the sort,” he returned, “but I 
warrant you couldn’t find many. Never 
mind about that; you’ve done the best you 
could, and I’ll do the right thing by you; 
so, under a hundred, I’ll give you two 
cents each; under fifty, I’ll give you three 
cents each. That’s fair, I’m sure,” and a 
broad smile played over his features. 

The grin of Friday evening again ap- 


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117 


peared on the boy’s face as he produced 
three large sheets of sticky fly-paper that 
were literally covered with dead mosqui¬ 
toes. So many of the insects had met 
their fate on the adhesive sheets that they 
were in many places two and three deep. 

Mr. Ritchie looked first at the papers 
and then at the boy, and began rubbing his 
chin thoughtfully. 

“Caught them in the grove back of the 
house,” he explained, “and I reckon that 
there’s near a thousand on each of them 
papers. You can count them if you like.” 

“Three thousand,” repeated Mr. 
Ritchie, half audibly. 

“Don’t know exactly,” the boy returned. 
“There they be; you can count them for 
yourself.” 

“Where did you get your paper?” Mr. 
Ritchie asked. 

“Store,” he answered, shortly, “Had 
some chink in me bank on the shelf, and I 
shook out enough to buy it. Wish I’d 
shook out more.” 

“Well, my boy,” remarked Mr. Ritchie, 
“let me say that there’s no danger but that 


118 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


you’ll succeed in business when you get 
older. Next time we have a revival in our 
church at home, I’m going to recommend 
fly-paper for use in holding the converts. 
Do you know what revivals and converts 
are?” 

The boy said “Yep,” and grinned again. 

Then Mr. Ritchie asked to have the 
three sheets of fly-paper left that he might 
count the captives. The boy left them, 
and he closed the door and sat looking for 
a long time at the strange graveyards that 
were spread out before him. He started 
several times to count, but gave it up. At 
last he leaned back in his chair and said 
aloud: 

“I declare I’m fairly caught this time, 
and caught with fly-paper, too, and that 
by a kid.” 

Having rolled and wrapped the sheets 
he set them aside for final disposal. Then 
he lathered his face again and shaved one 
cheek. Suddenly stopping in the opera¬ 
tion he laid down his razor and said: 

“A dollar for Moore, too—good gra¬ 
cious ! I don’t mind the dollar, but I can 


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119 


see him now. He’ll never let up on me. 
Good gracious!” 

Hurrying through the making of his 
toilet he went downstairs and, hunting up 
Dick, handed him two dollars and a half, 
which was deemed by the boy as full pay¬ 
ment for his services. Then he went to 
the end of the porch and flung the 
wrapped fly-papers far under the flooring. 

He was careful to say nothing about the 
matter to his companions until they had 
left Westwood. Then he handed Mr. 
Moore a dollar and declined to give any 
information as to the amount he had been 
obliged to pay the boy, but Moore refused 
the money on the ground that no sched¬ 
uled account of the mosquito-catch had 
been rendered. 


120 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER XI 

CLOTHED WITH SIMPLICITY 

It was Mrs. Van Cloud’s habit every 
Sunday to pay particular attention to her 
husband’s personal appearance and readi¬ 
ness for service. So frequently had he 
forgotten certain small details of dress and 
equipment that she thought it expedient 
to “look him over and catechise him,” as 
she said, before allowing him to leave the 
house. 

It so happened that, on the morning 
when Mr. Ritchie and his friends had ar¬ 
ranged to hear him preach, she was con¬ 
fined to her bed through illness. He was 
greatly disappointed on account of her in¬ 
ability to be present at the service, but the 
pleasure that he anticipated in again 
standing before his people and of being 
not only heard by them, but also by the 
Harksborough Committee, caused him to 


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carry a smiling face into the sick-room be¬ 
fore leaving his home. 

Bending over his wife, he gave her an 
affectionate kiss, which was returned with 
a loving embrace. 

“Well,” said the minister, “I am very 
desirous of accomplishing two things this 
morning. I want not only to help my 
people, but also to please that church com¬ 
mittee.” 

“I hope you’ll do both,” she replied. 
“You’re certainly capable enough to oc¬ 
cupy a better pulpit than you do now, and 
while the people all like you in Westwood, 
you’ve done your work here and ought to 
go elsewhere.” 

“I’ve known that for over a year,” 
sighed the man, “but then what could I 
do? I’ve had some forty-eight letters 
written for me to various vacant churches, 
and I haven’t had but one chance to preach 
as a candidate, and it wasn’t my fault that 
I didn’t get the Grayton church. You 
know that. It’s pretty hard on a man 
when he feels that for the good of the 
church he is over, as well as for his own 


m THE HARKSBOROUGH 


good, he ought to leave, and can’t do it on 
account of bread and butter. It puts a 
man in the position of preaching not so 
much to save men as to earn a living. It 
seems to me that when a minister thinks 
that his work is done, he ought to be able 
to make a change; but I suppose things 
are as they are, and I will have to wait my 
turn.” 

He was of a hopeful disposition, so that 
before withdrawing from the sick-room he 
turned a cheerful countenance to his wife 
and said: 

“I am going to do the very best that I 
can this morning. You pray for me while 
I’m preaching, and all will come out right 
some way, so good-by,” and he bent over 
and kissed her again. 

Before he had reached the door, she 
called him back with the question: 
“Woolworth, dear, are you sure that you 
have everything that you require?” 

Though annoyed by the implication, he 
smiled again and answered with confi¬ 
dence : 

“Everything.” 


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123 


“Sure?” she repeated, as though uncon¬ 
vinced by his reply. 

“Why, Mary,” he returned, “don’t you 
think that I’m old enough to take care of 
myself?” 

“I don’t know. Shoes blacked?” she 
asked. 

He lifted one of his feet and showed her 
the polished leather. 

“How about the other?” she laughingly 
demanded. “You remember that last 
Easter one of your shoes was blacked and 
the other hadn’t seen a brush for a week.” 

“Oh, Mary, why do you insist on re¬ 
ferring to that so often?” he returned, as 
he lifted his other foot for her inspection. 
“You know I was called off that Sunday 
when I was half through blacking my 
shoes and forgot all about it.” 

“I see that you’ve brushed your hair,” 
she persisted. “Is your cravat fastened 
down behind?” 

He felt back of his collar and made cer¬ 
tain that the white band was thoroughly 
secured under the button. 

“How about your sermon?” she asked. 


124 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


“You’ve forgotten that more than once 
and had to send Emily or me home for it.” 

He drew the manuscript half way out 
of his pocket in attestation of its presence 
there, and smiled as he pushed it back. 

“Have you brushed your clothes?” she 
queried, as she picked a thread off his 
sleeve. 

“Oh, I’m all right,” he insisted. 

“Well, I guess that you’ll do,” she fi¬ 
nally declared as she reached out her arms 
for another embrace. “Now do your best. 
I wish I were able to go.” 

He kissed her again and was about to 
turn away when she inquired: 

“How about your handkerchief ? Have 
you a clean one in your pocket?” 

“Handkerchief! handkerchief!” he re¬ 
peated, as he felt in one pocket after an¬ 
other. “It must be here somewhere.” 

She laughed triumphantly and said: 
“I thought that you’d forget something. 
Go to the dresser in the other room and 
you’ll find one in the right-hand corner of 
the upper drawer, just back of the col¬ 
lars.” 


COMMITTEE 


125 


The day was clear and beautiful, the 
church was well filled with people, the 
choir sang the opening anthem with un¬ 
usual sweetness and precision. The clear, 
pure air from outside came through the 
open windows. The birds chirped from 
the tree boughs and from beneath the 
eaves as though sharing with the congre¬ 
gation in the worship. The minister him¬ 
self felt unusually well and vigorous, and 
entered into his part of the service with 
enthusiastic pleasure. All felt it a priv¬ 
ilege to be in the house of God and join 
their hearts and voices in prayer and 
praise. 

The opening services being concluded, 
Mr. Van Cloud announced his text and 
began to speak. Warming up to his sub¬ 
ject, he frequently left his manuscript and 
his thoughts found expression in well- 
chosen words and phrases. There was 
not one in the congregation who did not 
realize that the preacher was giving them 
an unusually fine sermon. 

It was his habit to enforce the truths 
that he uttered with the use of his hand- 


126 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


kerchief, sometimes holding it in his out¬ 
stretched hand and sometimes balancing it 
on his palm. The people were therefore 
not surprised, at the expiration of about 
ten minutes, so see him thrust his hand in 
his pocket for the usual hemstitched ac¬ 
companiment to his gestures. 

“I tell you, brethren,” he exclaimed, “if 
we are ever to make our influence felt in 
this sinful world we must, like children, 
be clothed with simplicity.” Then, with¬ 
out realizing what he laid hold of, he drew 
an infant’s shirt from the folds of his coat 
and held it out before the astonished con¬ 
gregation. Weighing it in his extended 
hand, with its two diminutive arms hang¬ 
ing down, he proceeded: “We need no 
other garment to commend ourselves to 
our fellow men. Adorned with it alone, 
we unconsciously spread abroad an influ¬ 
ence which, if our lives are hid with Christ 
in God, ever makes for righteousness. 
Thus we become men of power.” 

Convulsed with laughter, the people bit 
their lips and struggled to suppress an 
open exhibition of merriment. Several 


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127 


women bowed their heads on the backs of 
the seats in front of them, while their 
shoulders shook in evidence of their ef¬ 
forts at self-control. A number of men 
were suddenly seized with an impulse to 
study their hymn-books or gaze at the 
frescoes on the ceiling. 

All unconscious of his mistake, Mr. Van 
Cloud laid the little garment beside the 
Bible and proceeded to enlarge on the 
statement that he had made. Several 
times he took up the shirt and wiped his 
face with it, or held it high over his head 
in earnest appeal. After a time, he no¬ 
ticed that the congregation was inatten¬ 
tive and seemed to have difficulty in pre¬ 
serving a decorous behavior. 

Not until the people were dismissed, 
and he had gathered up his papers, did he 
discover what he had been using. Then 
with chagrin and mortification, he fled to 
a side door and hastening his steps, 
reached home without meeting any one. 

Going to his room he found that instead 
of opening the upper drawer of the 
dresser, as he had been told, he had opened 


128 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


the middle drawer and had taken from the 
right-hand corner the article that he had 
used. 

When the committee returned to the 
hotel, Mr. Stickler declared that he would 
never consent to recommend such a 
thoughtless man to the consideration of 
his home church. Mr. Ritchie, while re¬ 
gretting the incident of the morning, 
thought that it was no more than just to 
the minister that he should be heard again. 
Mr. Moore, being moved by two conflict¬ 
ing motives, held his peace. It was, how¬ 
ever, agreed that no definite decision 
should be reached until after the evening’s 
service. In the meantime it was decided 
to attend the session of the Sunday-school. 

When, two hours later, the three men 
entered the Sunday-school room, they 
were met by the superintendent, who gave 
them a hearty welcome and invited Mr. 
Ritchie to teach Mr. Van Cloud’s Bible 
Class, as word had been brought that the 
pastor would not be present. Then, turn¬ 
ing to Mr. Moore, he asked him to take 
charge of a class of small boys in the back 


COMMITTEE 


129 


of the room. Mr. Ritchie, who was al¬ 
ways ready to oblige others, promptly 
consented to perform the duty assigned 
to him, and Mr. Moore, observing Miss 
Emily surrounded by a large class of girls, 
readily agreed to do what he could. Mr. 
Stickler was also urged to teach, but de¬ 
clared that he preferred to be in the Bible 
Class. 

The boys who had been assigned to the 
care of Mr. Moore were restless lads who 
had had very little home training, and in¬ 
tent only on getting as much enjoyment 
out of the session as they could. At first 
they looked at their appointed teacher 
with misgivings, then with curiosity; fi¬ 
nally, seeing that he was not inclined to in¬ 
sist on perfect decorum, they decided to be 
friendly and listen to what he had to say. 

The lesson of the day was the incident 
of the Martyrdom of Stephen, and Mr. 
Moore, knowing the boy nature, at once 
began to tell the story of the stoning with 
considerable graphic power, drawing les¬ 
sons and asking questions as he proceeded. 

Emily Van Cloud looked up several 


130 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


times and was delighted to see that the 
boys had gathered close together about 
their teacher, and were evidently greatly 
interested in what he was saying. Mr. 
Moore himself was well pleased at his suc¬ 
cess. So real did he make the Bible nar¬ 
rative appear that the passing of time was 
forgotten and the boys gave a start when 
they heard the first bell sound from the 
desk, indicating only five minutes more 
for study. 

“ Hurry up, hurry up,” said a sandy- 
haired, freckled-face lad in the corner. 

“We won’t get through if you don’t 
hurry up,” put in a stub-nosed youth next 
to him. 

“Then I’ll go on a little faster,” re¬ 
turned Mr. Moore, good-naturedly, for 
he was pleased with their impatience. 

“We want to hear about the row; how 
he stabbed ’em, and how they ate him up,” 
called out a black-haired, black-eyed lad. 

“Ate up whom?” Mr. Moore asked. 

“Stephen; Stephen!” shouted several at 
once. “There was an awful row, and we 
want to hear about it.” 


COMMITTEE 


131 


“They didn’t eat up Stephen,” he an¬ 
swered, astonished and perplexed by their 
words. 

“Yes, they did,” the class insisted, 
“ ’cause he stuck a knife into them. Su¬ 
perintendent said so when he was a-read- 
ing.” 

“You’ve got things wrong; there wasn’t 
any stabbing or eating,” he declared, with 
positiveness. 

“No, we haven’t got nothing wrong,” 
they insisted. “Ah, come, hurry up. 
What yer giving us with there not being 
a row? Superintendent said that there 
was, and we want to hear about it.” 

“No, boys, I can’t tell you about any 
stabbing affair and such a wicked thing as 
eating Stephen up, because it wasn’t so 
and Mr. Snodgrass never said that it 
was.” 

There was pandemonium in the class at 
once. “We’ll prove it! We’ll prove it!” 
they cried. “Give me a Bible,” demanded 
one of them. “Hand over that lesson 
paper,” shouted another. “Go way with 
his not saying it,” broke in a third. 


132 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


In a moment eight or ten printed pages 
were thrust in Mr. Moore’s face, and as 
many fingers pointed with assurance to 
the fifty-fourth verse of the eighth chapter 
of the Acts of the Apostles, and he read 
with surprise and amusement the words: 
“When they heard these things they were 
cut to the heart and they gnashed on him 
with their teeth.” 

It was difficult for him to keep from 
laughing as he explained that he could not 
portray any such blood-curdling events as 
they desired, for while there was consid¬ 
erable stone-throwing there was no stab¬ 
bing or cannibalism. 

When the lesson period was over, and 
the classes faced the desk, a hymn was 
sung, and Mr. Snodgrass, the superin¬ 
tendent, announced that a stranger from 
Harksborough was present and would 
make a brief address, whereupon Mr. Rit¬ 
chie stepped to the platform A broad 
smile lit up his benign countenance, and 
he rubbed his hands together in real pleas¬ 
ure as he looked into the expectant faces 
of the teachers and scholars. 


COMMITTEE 


133 


By way of collecting his thoughts, he 
spoke on the lesson of the day, briefly re¬ 
viewing the school on what they had been 
considering. Then a happy thought came 
to him, and he said: 

“I see, my young friends, that you have 
a new singing-book.” He took a copy 
from the table and turned the leaves. 
“And I notice that there are quite a num¬ 
ber of new and beautiful hymns. Now 
it’s one thing to sing the words of a Chris¬ 
tian song and it’s quite another thing to 
understand the lines and enter into their 
meaning and spirit. Here is the hymn 
that you have just sung. Let me ask 
how many thought of the meaning of 
the words that they uttered with their 
lips.” 

Immediately there was a show of hands 
from all parts of the room; then he con¬ 
tinued: “Let me read the refrain and then 
tell me what it means?” 

“Glory be to Salem’s Lord, Christ is King. 
‘Peace on earth, good will to men,’ praises bring. 
Join with angels as they sing, 

‘Glory to our new-born king—Alleluia.’ ” 


134 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


In a moment a score or more arms were 
frantically waved in the air, and he se¬ 
lected one of the little girls to answer. 

“Christ is King,” piped the child. 

“Christmas,” shouted a boy by way of 
correction. 

“You,” said Mr. Ritchie, pointing to 
another. 

“Angels sing about Jesus,” was the an¬ 
swer. 

A boy in the back of the room arose and 
waved his hand impatiently. Having re¬ 
ceived permission to speak, he explained: 

“Salem was the place where they burned 
the witches, and glory be to the Lord of 
Salem for burning ’em, ’cause Jesus is 
King.” 

He looked around with a superior air, 
and then took his seat expecting a word of 
approval from the desk. 

There was silence for a moment, then 
one of the girls in an older class giggled. 

Mr. Ritchie cleared his throat, rubbed 
his hands more vigorously, and smiled 
again; then he said that he was very glad 
to have so many different opinions, and 


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135 


he had no doubt but that each one had the 
right idea in his mind, but did not know 
just how to express it. So he went on to 
explain the meaning of the lines, after 
which he smiled again and sat down. 

It was then announced that Mr. Van 
Cloud would not speak in the evening, but 
that a Rev. Nathaniel Crane Newhall 
would occupy the pulpit. 

The announcement caused a shadow to 
pass over Mr. Moore’s face. He did not 
blame the pastor for absenting himself, 
but he was annoyed that Mr. Newhall 
should spring up on every occasion. 

At the close of the session he went over 
to where Emily was standing and praised 
her class, hoping thereby to please her. 

On reaching the hotel he declared that 
it was a waste of time to attend the even¬ 
ing service, as they had all heard Newhall 
before and were unanimous in the opinion 
that he was not a suitable man for Harks- 
borough. To this statement the other 
men agreed, and it was arranged to hear 
some one else. 


136 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER XII 

GETTING RID OF A MINISTER 

During the next eight weeks the com¬ 
mittee had visited Salesbury, Fairfield, 
Fort Allen, Merchantsville, Saxon’s Mills, 
Bronsons, Jamison’s Corners, Dorchester 
and Lakeville. The course that the men 
had followed had been arranged by them 
after carefully reading certain letters and 
recommendations that had come from 
prominent men in the denomination. 

During their travels they had met some 
fifteen ministers, whom Mr. Moore had 
named successively: “The Geyser, Sir 
Charles Bantam, Skyrocket, Master 
Gusto, Dominie Muddle, The Excavator, 
Schoolboy Trite, The Philosopher, Solo¬ 
mon Profundus, Professor Thrills, Prig 
and Prim, Pastor Grim, Dr. Squab, The 
Cackler, and Cloud Climber.” These, he 
said, were mere tags, so that identification 


COMMITTEE 


137 


might be easy, and were not intended to 
reflect on the character or usefulness of 
men. Many of them, he assured his 
friends, were as good as any one who would 
be called to the Harksborough Church. 

Hotel and boarding-house life had 
wearied them all, although Bently Moore, 
being a younger man than his companions, 
had felt the fatigue the least. Moreover, 
he had made frequent excursions to West- 
wood, which gave him so much pleasure 
that he said he could keep on all winter. 

With spirits somewhat depressed on ac¬ 
count of their weariness and lack of suc¬ 
cess, they boarded a train for Slocum City. 

Shoving their baggage out of the way, 
they made themselves as comfortable as 
they could. Mr. Stickler occupied a place 
next to Mr. Moore, and Mr. Ritchie sat 
with a stranger just behind them. 

They had traveled for about an hour, 
when Mr. Ritchie leaned over and nudg¬ 
ing his companions said: “I wish that you 
two men would let me introduce you to the 
gentleman who sits next to me. We’ve 
been having a delightful conversation to- 


138 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


gether, and he has some information that 
I am sure will be most useful to us all.” 

Mr. Stickler and Mr. Moore turned 
around quickly and looked at the man. 
He was somewhat past middle life, of 
rather stocky build, a bullet-shaped head 
crowned with a heavy growth of gray hair. 
A broad smile lit up his features as he met 
the gaze of the men, and Mr. Ritchie at 
once presented them to him. 

After a few general remarks Mr. Moore 
suggested to Mr. Stickler that conversa¬ 
tion could be more easily carried on if the 
seat-back was turned, so that they could 
sit facing each other. 

“It is certainly a Providence,” said Mr. 
Ritchie, “that I happened to meet Mr. 
Paulson here. He’s just the man to help 
us in our search for a minister. Our 
church is looking for a pastor and his pas¬ 
tor is looking for a church, or rather he 
is looking for a church for his pastor. So 
there you have it.” 

“Let me explain,” interrupted the man. 
“You see, I’m a member of the Main Ave¬ 
nue Church of Spartanburg. Our minis- 


COMMITTEE 


139 


ter is one of the finest men I ever knew, 
but somehow or other he doesn’t seem to 
hold the people. Eight years ago, when 
he came to us, we had big congregations; 
every one thought that he was a wonder 
and wanted to hear him. Then the au¬ 
diences began to drop off until, after two 
or three years, they weren’t any larger 
than before he came. Then the South 
Church got a new man and every one was 
sounding his praises. The fourth year 
folks were saying that Doctor Brownell 
wasn’t up-to-date. Well, since then it has 
been pretty hard pulling; the people don’t 
attend the services, the finances are run¬ 
ning behind, and nobody seems to take an 
interest. The doctor himself isn’t com¬ 
fortable. I can see it in the way he acts. 
Every one concedes that he’s an interest¬ 
ing speaker, a good caller, first-class when 
people are in trouble, and that he can’t 
be beat at funerals and such things; but 
then you see the church don’t go, and we 
can’t afford to let it run down. 

“Well, to make a long story short, some 
of us had a meeting to talk the matter 


140 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


over. One of the trustees said that it 
wouldn’t do to sacrifice the organization 
for any man, and proposed that Dr. Brow¬ 
nell be told just the condition of things 
and be asked to resign; but I said: ‘No, 
that won’t do. He’s Christian enough to 
take kindly anything that might be said, 
but then he’s got a family to support, and 
with no other church in sight it would be 
an awful blow to him.’ I know that such 
a thing would break me all up, and I’m 
not half so sensitive as he is. Besides, 
every one respects him, and a lot of the 
people in the church love him, and if we 
should ask him to go his friends would be 
indignant and would circulate a paper 
begging him to stay. More than half of 
the people would sign it. Then where 
would we be? We’d either have to back 
down and be called hard names or stand 
our ground and split the church.” 

“That’s so; that’s so,” declared Mr. 
Stickler. “I knew just such a case as 
that, where it tore the membership to 
pieces and the minister went off and or¬ 
ganized a new church not a stone’s-throw 


COMMITTEE 


141 

away, and now they have two weak so¬ 
cieties shaking fists at each other, instead 
of one united church doing the Lord’s 
work.” 

“And when a church quarrel is patched 
up, it’s generally done with fine thread 
and big stitches,” broke in Bently Moore. 
“Better stop the thing at the beginning.” 

“Well, that’s just what I thought,” con¬ 
tinued Mr. Paulson, “so I voted against 
the proposition and put my thinking-cap 
on, and I came to the conclusion that every 
minister had his limitations and every 
church had its limitations. Some men are 
good for a lifetime in a field; others are 
good for only ten or five years. Some 
may be good for only one or two years. 
And it’s the same way with churches. 
Some churches can keep a pastor forty 
years, but that isn’t to say they all can. 
The great thing is for ten-year men to 
get in ten-year churches, and five-year 
men to get in five-year churches, and so 
on. Now, our minister has done all that 
he can do in Spartanburg, and is not to 
blame because he has lost his grip; and our 


143 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


church has worked as long as it can with 
Dr. Brownell, and is not to blame if it 
doesn’t grow. One or the other has come 
to the line of its limitation, and there must 
be a change. Furthermore, we who are 
interested must see that the change is 
brought about without injury on either 
side and without ugly accusations or heart¬ 
breaks. So I said: ‘When our pastor 
goes, the church will appoint a committee 
to look up a successor. Let’s get in our 
work first and appoint ourselves a com¬ 
mittee to look up a good church for the 
Doctor and do what we can to secure him a 
call. Then he can go with the best wishes 
of the people and leave a united church.’ 
When I explained my views they all fell 
in with me and we went to work, watching 
the papers for church vacancies and writ¬ 
ing to our friends. Now we’ve each 
taken a week off in turn, and are going to 
see what we can do by personal work. 
I’ve been to the Board rooms and talked 
with the secretaries. They say that they 
have a long list now of men who want help, 
but I told them to tear up the list and let 


COMMITTEE 


143 


the restless importunates go. If men in 
places of power would only keep informed 
and use their influence to prevent divisions 
and discouragements, instead of trying to 
help restless preachers to get more loaves 
and fishes and vacant churches to get some¬ 
thing for nothing, they’d do vastly more 
for the kingdom of Christ than by flooding 
the country with letters of recommenda¬ 
tion.” 

“You’re right,” said Mr. Moore. 
“We’ve had a perfect raft of communica¬ 
tions from the biggest men in the denomi¬ 
nation, recommending ministers that are 
not worth the hearing. I’ve come to have 
more confidence in one short letter from 
an every-day business man than from a 
dozen doctors of divinity. A first-class 
business man will judge a minister as he 
does an employe, by his record and by 
what he can do; but a parson will judge a 
minister on the basis of personal liking, 
and will tell all about the fine preaching 
qualities of men whom they have never 
heard. One has pride in having the man 
he recommends turn out as he said he 


144 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


would; the other doesn’t seem to care as 
long as he can be accommodating and get 
a job for a friend.” 

“Well, this is what I was getting at,” 
continued Mr. Paulson. “The minister, 
or our church, I don’t know which, has 
reached the limit. I’m inclined to think 
that it’s the church, for Dr. Brownell is a 
good man and doing the best that he 
knows how. We need a change, just the 
same, and propose to have it without divi¬ 
sion or heartbreak. If the change isn’t 
made peaceably soon, two years from now 
it will be forced with friction and fire. 
Now you are looking for a pastor. Call 
Dr. Brownell. If he does as well by you 
as he has by us, you won’t have any reason 
to complain. You may travel from Dan 
to Beersheba and not find his equal.” 

“We’ll have him,” said Mr. Ritchie with 
emphasis. 

“What will we do when he has reached 
his limit with us?” asked Mr. Stickler. 

“Do? Why, do just as I and my 
friends are doing. Get him another 
field,” answered Mr. Paulson. “May be 


COMMITTEE 


145 


he won’t reach any limit with you.” 

“Give us his name and address and we’ll 
hear him preach,” said Bently Moore. 

“I should be very glad to do that,” re¬ 
turned Mr. Paulson, “but let me ask you 
to do just what I told the secretaries to do. 
Tear up your list, or else put our minis¬ 
ter’s name at the head. You come to 
Spartanburg next Sunday and hear him, 
stay a week or two and inquire about him. 
You won’t hear anything but praise. 
Then go back and recommend him and tell 
what you’ve heard. You’ll be doing good 
by your church as well as by ours.” 

“We’ll be there next Sunday,” said Mr. 
Ritchie. 

“No; we’re booked for Slocum City 
next Sunday,” broke in Mr. Moore, “and 
we’ve half promised to hear Mr. Van 
Cloud again.” 

“Well, then, come the first chance you 
get,” urged Mr. Paulson. 

“That we’ll do,” said Mr. Moore. 
“Leave the date open and we’ll do the best 
that we can and visit you before long, un¬ 
less something unforeseen prevents.” 


146 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER XIII 

mr. ritchie's selfishness 

The train slowed up at a small station 
and a woman on the opposite side of the 
car arose and, picking up a pair of 
crutches, handed them to a little cripple 
with iron braces on his leg. 

The child put the crutches under his 
arm and sliding off the seat, braced him¬ 
self against the back of the seat just in 
front. 

“Let me help you,” said Mr. Ritchie, 
as he bent over to where the boy was try¬ 
ing to stand. 

The car suddenly came to a stop and the 
child fell back on the upholstery. He 
gave a short, low groan and pressed his 
lips together. 

“There, now, don’t mind,” and Mr. Rit¬ 
chie picked up the crutches and laid them 
against the cushion. “Just you put your 


COMMITTEE 147 

arms around my neck and I’ll carry you 
out.” 

The boy threw his arms around his neck 
and he carried him out while the woman 
followed with the crutches and an old va¬ 
lise. Reaching the waiting-room, he put 
him down on one of the benches. 

“There, you’re not in pain now, are 
you?” he asked. 

The boy shook his head. 

“Well, here’s a paper for you to look 
at,” he added as he handed him an illus¬ 
trated magazine that he had purchased on 
the train. 

The woman expressed her thanks and 
the child turned his little pale face toward 
his helper while a wan, languid smile crept 
over his drawn features and a gleam of 
gratitude showed itself in his blue eyes. 

“Good-by! good-by!” said Mr. Ritchie. 
“ I must catch my car. God bless you. 
Good-by!” and he went out. 

The train was already in motion and he 
ran after it, hoping to swing himself on 
the rear platform. The conductor no¬ 
ticed his purpose and called back: 


148 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


“Don’t risk it; you may fall.” So he 
stopped running. 

Bently Moore, who was on the forward 
car, shouted back from the platform: 

“Come on the next train. We’ll put up 
at ‘The Graham’ and take care of your 
baggage.” 

On re-entering the passenger-room the 
woman was profuse in her expressions of 
regret that his kindness had caused him to 
miss the train. 

“Oh, never mind! never mind!” he re¬ 
plied. “There’ll be another along pretty 
soon.” 

“Not until evening,” she answered, “and 
that’s five hours. The village is a mile and 
a half over. I know, for I take Phil to 
the city every week to see the doctor, and 
we have to wait here to get the stage. It 
doesn’t come over to this train.” 

“Do you mean to say that that child sits 
five hours on that hard bench every week?” 
he asked. 

“There’s no other way,” she answered, 
“but sometimes he walks around a little 
with his crutches. That makes a change, 


COMMITTEE 


149 


but the doctor doesn’t want him to walk 
much. One time I tried to get the bag¬ 
gage master to put some boards on the 
truck so he could lie down, but he said it 
was against the rules. I’m sorry for you, 
sir, for you’re kept here on account of 
what you did for Phil.” 

“Oh, don’t think about me,” Mr. Rit¬ 
chie returned. “Excuse me for a few mo¬ 
ments. I want to see that baggage mas¬ 
ter,” and he went out. 

Stepping rapidly to the end of the plat¬ 
form he entered the baggage-room. The 
man he sought was sitting at a desk mak¬ 
ing out some papers. He was a heavily 
built individual, with low brow, stiff brist¬ 
ling hair, and harsh voice. His face wore 
a kindly expression, but was marked with 
dogged determination. 

“See here,” said Mr. Ritchie, “there’s 
a little cripple in the other room who has 
to wait five hours for the stage before he 
can be taken over to the village. What 
can we do to make him comfortable?” 

“Nothing,” returned the man, without 
looking up. “There are plenty of seats in 


150 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


the waiting-room. He can stay there.” 

“Those seats are too hard for any grown 
man who has to wait five hours, let alone a 
child in almost constant pain.” 

“Can’t help it,” remarked the man. 
“It’s all the company provides.” 

“I wish that you’d stop writing for a 
minute and listen to what I say,” said Mr. 
Ritchie. 

The man quickly turned around and 
glared at his visitor. A deep scowl fur¬ 
rowed his low brow, all signs of kindli¬ 
ness passed from his face, and his iron 
jaws came together in firm determina¬ 
tion. 

“I know some of the officers of this 
road,” began Mr. Ritchie, “and they are 
all gentlemen. There isn’t one who, if he 
were here, wouldn’t put himself out to 
help that child. Now if you want to 
please them, as well as do that which will 
be of advantage to yourself, you’ll show 
a little consideration for that boy.” 

A puzzled look came into the man’s face 
and his features gradually softened. 
He was trying to surmise what officers 


COMMITTEE 


151 


were referred to, and what advantage 
might accrue to himself. Failing to sat¬ 
isfy his mind on these particulars, he said 
nothing and Mr. Ritchie continued: 

“Now I want some sort of arrangement, 
a truck with some boards and blankets, or 
perhaps you have some bags of soft stuff 
in the freight house that would do for 
the boy to lie on.” 

“How would this do?” the man asked as 
he reached behind the door and drew out 
an old steamer chair. “I guess I can find 
some blankets in the freight house, if you 
need them.” 

“Just the thing,” returned Mr. Ritchie. 
“Let’s go over and see what we can find 
to cover it,” and they walked to the freight 
house together. 

In a few moments they returned, and 
the steamer chair was stretched out and 
covered, and the boy was lifted on it. 

Tears of gratitude stood in the child’s 
eyes as he leaned back on the blankets and 
looked first at his benefactor, and then at 
his mother. 

The woman tried again to express her 


15* THE HARKSBOROUGH 


thanks, but Mr. Ritchie insisted that she 
and Phil had nothing for which to thank 
him; that he had done what he had from 
purely selfish motives, as he enjoyed see¬ 
ing the boy comfortable, and while some 
men amused themselves by games or races, 
he amused himself in fixing blankets on 
trucks. 

“Now,” said Mr. Ritchie to the baggage 
master, “I notice you have a telegraph 
instrument in your room. I would very 
much like to have you send a message for 
me.” 

“Where?” the man asked, as if uncertain 
whether to comply with the request, or to 
plead that the instrument could only be 
used on the business of the road. 

“To the village, to the tavern, livery- 
stable if there is one, anywhere where you 
can get an easy-going vehicle; order it sent 
here immediately. I’m going to see that 
that child gets home comfortably. Let 
me know the charges.” 

The man sat down before the instru¬ 
ment and sent the message. A carriage 
would leave for the station at once. Ex- 


COMMITTEE 


153 


penses, two dollars. Telegraphing would 
cost twenty-five cents. Mr. Ritchie 
handed the man one dollar and said: 
“That will pay for your trouble and the 
message; you may keep the change.” 
Then he went back to the woman and her 
child. 

When the carriage came, the boy was 
carefully propped up in a seat by his 
mother, and Mr. Ritchie got in after 
them. He said that there was plenty of 
time for him to accompany them; it was 
pleasanter than staying about the railway 
station and he could return with the stage 
when it came to meet the next train. 

On reaching the village he had several 
hours to wait, and he spent part of the 
time with the woman and her son. She 
was a widow and very poor, but her home 
was comfortable and well kept. Before 
leaving he asked for her name, as he said 
that he wanted to send Phil a picture- 
paper occasionally. That evening the 
woman found a ten-dollar bill carefully 
hidden under one of the plates on the 
table, and she sat down and wept. Then 


154 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


she went into her room, and kneeling by 
the bedside prayed for her benefactor. 

Not many days passed before a monthly 
magazine, a weekly story-paper and a hu¬ 
morous periodical came to the village post- 
office bearing Phil’s address. As time 
passed other numbers were received and 
it became evident that some one had sub¬ 
scribed for them. One day the post¬ 
master handed Phil’s mother a letter in¬ 
quiring after the name and address of the 
doctor who had charge of the boy. Fi¬ 
nally, in about three weeks, the express- 
man delivered at the widow’s house a 
wheel chair just large enough to fit Phil’s 
little body. 

The mother noticed that thereafter, 
whenever she took her boy to the city for 
examination, the doctor was very atten¬ 
tive, and a carriage was always in waiting 
at the station on her return. The next 
spring the doctor advised that she should 
spend the summer months at the sea-side 
with her child. He said that the salt air 
would strengthen the boy, and playing in 
the sand would do him good. When she 


COMMITTEE 


155 


complained that she was unable to meet 
the expenses of such a vacation, he said 
that he knew a gentleman who had friends 
by the ocean, and that it would cost her 
nothing. 

It was Mr. Ritchie’s habit after that to 
visit the woman and her son every year, 
and his purse provided many things for 
their comfort. Phil grew well and strong, 
and though always lame, was able, in after 
years, to start a small business through his 
friend’s assistance, and earn a good living 
for his mother and himself. 

It was late that night when Mr. Ritchie 
reached “The Graham,” in Slocum City. 
His friends had gone to bed, but he found 
his suit-case in the office and went at once 
to his room. 


156 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER XIV 

THE WRONG AND THE RIGHT WAY 

It was after a long, dull sermon by a 
Dr. Bachleman in the Parkway Church of 
Slocum City, that the three men returned 
to their hotel wearied and discouraged. 
The weather was growing cold with the 
approach of autumn. They had not pro¬ 
vided themselves with heavy garments 
and they felt uncomfortable and critical. 
Dr. Bachleman had been highly recom¬ 
mended to them, and they had cherished 
bright hopes that at last they had found 
the right man, but he had proved a failure 
so far as availability for the Harksborough 
Church was concerned. They looked over 
their list again, and found that those who 
had been most highly praised had been 
heard. They were to listen to Mr. Van 
Cloud again, and there was Dr. Brownell, 
of Spartanburg. He might prove accept- 


COMMITTEE 157 

able but experience had made them skep¬ 
tical. 

After dinner they met in Mr. Ritchie’s 
room to consider what they should do next. 

“I tell you, gentlemen, I’m completely 
fagged out,” declared Mr. Stickler, as he 
brought his fist down on the table with a 
force that made the other men start. 
“You can go on this wild goose chase all 
winter, if you want to, but I’m going 
home.” 

“Wild goose,” repeated Mr. Moore un¬ 
der his breath, as though considering 
something. Then he remained looking at 
the floor, and Mr. Ritchie asked: 

“You propose giving up the job?” 

“Give it up for once and for good,” as¬ 
serted his companion. “This running 
around all over the creation isn’t what it’s 
cracked up to be. Selecting a pastor by 
committee is a very pretty procedure for 
the church, it relieves the members of all 
further responsibility, but it’s too hard on 
the men that are appointed to do the 
work; so I propose that we quit, write out 
a report embodying our experiences, de- 


158 THE HARKSBQROUGH 

scribing the ministers that we’ve heard, 
hand it in, and throw up the job. After 
that the church can select whom it pleases 
or appoint another committee. We’ve 
done our share; now let others take their 
turn at it.” 

“That would be a straight backdown,” 
returned Mr. Ritchie. “I want to quit as 
much as you do, but I’ll be hanged if I 
want to confess that I’ve made a failure 
of the work. The truth is, you and Moore 
are altogether too finical. If I’d been 
alone I’d found a man long ago. Al¬ 
most any of the preachers that we’ve 
heard would have done well enough. Be¬ 
sides, there’s Van Cloud and Brownell; 
what are you going to do about them? 
We’ve half promised Van Cloud that we’d 
visit Westwood again, and we told Paul¬ 
son that we’d hear Brownell unless some¬ 
thing unforeseen should occur. I sup¬ 
pose that, after listening to them, we could 
make out a list of all the ministers that 
we know about, pick out the best in the 
bunch, and recommend him. If we can’t 
agree on who is the best, we can throw up 


COMMITTEE 


159 


a cent and decide in that way. You re¬ 
member the first disciples selected Mat¬ 
thias by casting lots. We can’t go very 
far astray, for all the men that we’ve heard 
are good. Of course the preacher we com¬ 
mend won’t please all the people, but they 
can’t do any more than find fault with our 
judgment, and we don’t claim to be in¬ 
fallible, you know.” 

“Well, my way may seem to be a back¬ 
down, as you say,” Mr. Stickler replied, 
“but it’s honest and that’s more than can 
be said of your scheme. To recommend a 
man on the flip of a coin and then say that 
he’s the best that we’ve heard may be easy, 
but it doesn’t seem to me to be a very hon¬ 
orable way of meeting a responsibility. 
Better declare at once that the contract 
was a bigger one than we could handle, 
and then back out. We don’t want to do 
as those Silverton people did. They got 
into a jangle over whom they should have, 
and tried to settle the difficulty with a 
pack of cards. When they found that 
the card method was considered sacri¬ 
legious, they wrote the names of all the 


160 THE HARKSBOROUGH 

available candidates on slips of paper and 
put them in a hat. The first name drawn 
was selected, and you know what kind of a 
minister they got! Wasn’t fit to preach 
to a herd of cattle!” 

“That might be all so,” interrupted Mr. 
Ritchie, with a chuckle, “and yet he might 
be entirely fit to preach to the people who 
called him.” 

“Well, we’ve done our duty,” insisted 
Mr. Stickler, “and there’s nothing more 
to do but go home and see if others will do 
any better.” 

Bently Moore had been sitting tipped 
back in his chair. His eyes had been fixed 
on the carpet. He seemed to take little 
interest in the conversation, yet he had 
heard everything that had been said and 
was only waiting for an opportune mo¬ 
ment to speak. When, therefore, there 
was quiet, he brought his chair to an up¬ 
right position, and rising, went over to 
where his friends were sitting. 

“See here,” he said, as he put his hand 
on Mr. Stickler’s shoulder. “You’re 
both good men, and you both want to do 


COMMITTEE 


161 


the best thing by the Harksborough 
Church, but it’s my opinion that we’re 
all off the track. It’s true that we’ve 
taken a great responsibility, but then, 
we’ve taken it, and it would be wrong both 
to our church and to ourselves to back out 
because we find it hard. Of course we 
can’t declare that any man is the best man 
on the turning of a cent or the drawing of 
a slip. Mr. Ritchie didn’t recommend 
any such procedure earnestly; he was only 
joking. Brethren, I’ve been doing a lot 
of thinking the last few weeks, and I’ve 
come to the conclusion that we’ll never 
find the right man by going on as we have. 
Sermons are all well enough in their place, 
but they are not always messages from the 
Almighty, as is claimed. Sometimes 
they’re nothing more than advertisements. 
I hope that they are not often such, but I 
fear candidating sermons are apt to be 
that kind, whether the preacher stands in 
the pulpit of a pastorless church, or before 
a committee in his own church. Preach¬ 
ers have their way of advertising just as 
business men have, and we’ve been duping 


162 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


ourselves by judging them by their pulpit 
performances. We don’t measure a mer¬ 
chant by his newspaper displays; why 
should we a preacher by his pulpit dis¬ 
plays? The truth is, we’ve been looking 
all these weeks for a minister, rather than 
for a man, a divinely appointed man. It’s 
my firm conviction that some men are ap¬ 
pointed by God to the prophetical office 
to-day just the same as of old, and some 
are called by circumstances or inclination 
to the ministerial profession. I don’t care 
whether a preacher uses a manuscript or 
does not. I don’t care whether he has a 
command of language or halts and stum¬ 
bles, if only lie’s been sent to me by God. 
I want to be sure of that. Now I say 
let us begin where we should have begun 
three months ago. Start right. We’ll 
never find a man until we do.” 

“How’s that?” Mr. Stickler asked. 

“Decide definitely what we most need in 
Harksborough. Perhaps we don’t know, 
but we must use the best judgment that 
we have. If the men that we’ve heard so 
far don’t meet the requirement, discard 


COMMITTEE 


163 


them one and all, then let us get to work 
in the Scriptural way to find a suitable 
man. We’ve been playing hop, skip and 
jump with our responsibilities long 
enough; now let us begin to use our brains 
and hearts.” 

“I’ll tell you where the shoe pinches,” 
said Mr. Ritchie with a smile. “You and 
Stickler want a ten-thousand-dollar man 
for two thousand and parsonage, and of 
course it’s hard to find him.” 

“That’s what we all want, and that’s 
what most vacant churches are looking for: 
something for nothing with a false esti¬ 
mate of valuation,” returned Bently 
Moore. “Now let us get the idea of sal¬ 
ary out of our minds altogether, if we 
can, and come to some definite conclusion 
as to what kind of a man our church really 
needs.” 

“If I remember rightly,” remarked Mr. 
Stickler, “we tried to do that before we 
left home, when we sent out all those slips. 
You know the result: almost as many 
opinions as there were members.” 

“The congregation has nothing to say 


164 THE HARKSBOROUGH 

about the matter now; the members will 
all have a chance to say yes or no when 
their turn comes. It’s our innings now,” 
returned Mr. Moore. 

“What kind of a minister do you think 
Harksborough needs?” Mr. Ritchie asked. 

“Well, it seems to me,” returned Mr. 
Moore, “that our church needs a manly 
man who is spiritually minded and thor¬ 
oughly in earnest about working for 
Christ. My experience has led me to be¬ 
lieve that nearly all ministers are good 
men, honestly trying to do God’s work 
in the best way that they can; they have 
their faults and their disagreeable traits, 
so have we. Human nature is imperfect 
and every one has his limitations. Of 
course our church needs a reasonably in¬ 
telligent man. We don’t want a ninny 
nor a twaddler, but the idea that he must 
be scholarly and have unusual oratorical 
ability and be a good organizer and finan¬ 
cier and pastor and mixer and all that, is 
nonsense. He can’t be everything, but 
if he has heart power and sincerity it is 
enough.” 


COMMITTEE 


165 


“ Though I speak with the tongues of 
men and angels, and though I understand 
all mysteries and all knowledge,” quoted 
Mr. Ritchie. 

“That’s it exactly,” the young man 
agreed. 

“Mustn’t he have some snap?” Mr. 
Stickler asked. 

“Yes,” responded Mr. Moore, “but I 
said that he should be thoroughly in earn¬ 
est about working for Christ. I think that 
covers snap. People talk about having a 
passion for preaching, and a passion for 
souls, and a passion for truth, and I don’t 
know what all besides, but it seems to me 
that if a man has a passion for Christ he 
will have it all, and no one will ever have 
a passion for Christ who has not at some 
time seen him.” 

“Seen him!” exclaimed both the men 
together. 

“Yes, seen him,” repeated Mr. Moore. 
“The heart has eyes to see. We need a 
man who inspires men to follow the Sav¬ 
ior because he has himself been inspired 
to follow him.” 


166 THE HARKSBOROUGH 

“Mustn’t he be orthodox?” Mr. Stickler 
asked. 

“I’ll risk the orthodoxy of such a man,” 
returned Mr. Moore. 

“You say that we can’t find the kind of 
man that we need by hearing sermons. 
How then can we find him?” Mr. Ritchie 
inquired. 

The enthusiasm that had showed itself 
in the young man’s speech seemed sud¬ 
denly to pass away as with lowered voice 
and deep solemnity he said: “By prayer 
and faith and in no other way.” 

There was silence for a few moments. 
Then Mr. Moore continued: “Brethren, 
we’ve been on the wrong track. We’ve 
been asking God for guidance and judg¬ 
ment and all that; but our prayers have 
been brief and perfunctory. Forgive me 
if I misjudge either of you. I simply 
make the assumption on the basis of my 
own feelings and conduct. Now, if you 
both agree, I propose that we hear no 
more preaching for the present, with the 
idea of getting a pastor, but that we defi¬ 
nitely decide what kind of a minister we 


COMMITTEE 


167 


need at home, then meet every morning 
after breakfast, spend an hour or more 
in specific prayer that he may be revealed 
to us, thanking God for success promised 
but not yet realized and then commune 
with Him while we pursue our investiga¬ 
tions.” 

The men made no reply, and Bently 
Moore went on. 

“It is my belief that our church requires 
a man who is profoundly conscious of 
Christ’s presence and power and who is 
in deep sympathy with the hopes and sor¬ 
rows of his fellow men.” 

Mr. Ritchie looked up at his young 
friend and with a seriousness that was un¬ 
usual to him, said, “Moore, you make me 
feel like a fool, after all the tramping I’ve 
been doing. You’ve got the levelest head 
among us.” 

Mr. Stickler said nothing, and Bently 
Moore turned and asked him whether 
what he had said was not true. 

“True as gospel,” was his approving 
answer. 

“Well, then,” continued Mr. Moore, 


168 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


“let us begin at once to get on the right 
track. We’ve made no engagement for 
this afternoon.” 

Mr. Ritchie got down on his knees and 
buried his face in his hands. Mr. Stickler 
followed, and Bently Moore brought a 
chair and knelt near his companions. 

There was silence for some time, after 
which Bently Moore thanked God for the 
surety of His promises and uttered a brief 
but earnest petition, in which he asked for¬ 
giveness for all past self-reliance and mis¬ 
taken dependence on human judgment, 
and pleaded with God for direction in 
days to come. 

Then Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Stickler 
prayed, and there was another period of 
silent waiting, broken only at intervals by 
brief, heartfelt expressions of faith and 
appeals to heaven for help. 

Never before had the three men come so 
close together. Never before had they 
felt so heavily the responsibility of their 
commission and their utter helplessness, 
yet somehow strength came to them in 
their sense of weakness, and they rose 


COMMITTEE 


169 


from their knees with a confidence in ulti¬ 
mate success that they had not felt since 
beginning their work. 

As the days of the week passed, they 
met every morning for prayer. Nothing 
was said about the next minister on the 
list; indeed, it is doubtful whether they 
would have remembered that they had a 
list, had not the fact been recalled to them 
by a letter that they received from Mr. 
Paulson, urging them to hear Dr. Brow¬ 
nell as soon as possible. The letter was 
answered by Bently Moore, who told his 
correspondent that something unforeseen 
had happened, and while it was possible 
that they might visit Spartanburg soon, 
nothing was definitely decided and would 
not be immediately. 


170 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER XV 

A YOUNG MAN'S VISION 

When Saturday came they went to 
Bradford, a thriving little city a short dis¬ 
tance away. 

It was late when they reached the place 
and they went at once to the leading hotel 
where they found a letter awaiting them 
from Deacon Brant, of Harksborough, 
telling them of the temporary illness of 
Mr. Goodman and asking for a pulpit 
supply for two or three weeks. 

Sunday morning was clear and bright. 
A crisp breeze came from the north, but 
the warm sun tempered the air so that they 
felt fresh and hopeful as they entered the 
doors of the Folsom Avenue Church. 
The regular pastor was away, and it was 
not until they were comfortably seated 
half way down the aisle that they observed 
the Rev. Nathaniel Crane Newhall in the 
pulpit. He was dressed, as usual, with 


COMMITTEE 


171 


great care and had, if possible, a more self- 
sufficient manner than he had when they 
heard him at Vinton Village. 

They had attended the service with 
longing for a clearer sense of the divine 
presence, and their hearts sank within 
them when they saw who was to preach, 
for they felt sure that Mr. Newhall’s main 
object would be, not the spiritual uplift of 
the congregation, but the creation of a 
favorable impression regarding himself. 
And that his sermon would consist of a 
few polished platitudes, some striking 
quotations, a verse or two from the poets, 
a half-dozen commonplace illustrations ut¬ 
tered in a deep voice with a show of schol¬ 
arship, and then they would be sent home 
with a sense of wasted time. 

As they left the church that morning 
they felt disappointed and heart sick, but 
said nothing in criticism of the sermon. 
They wanted bread and felt that they had 
been given husks. That afternoon they 
spent an hour in prayer and then went 
out for a walk. When the time for even¬ 
ing service came, they sought a small 


172 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


meeting-house on a side street where a 
few plain people were assembled for wor¬ 
ship. An old man led the devotions, and 
then spoke in a simple, straightforward 
way about the need of separation from sin 
and spiritual growth. There was nothing 
striking about the sermon. The truths 
that he uttered were old and well under¬ 
stood, but a feeling of deep conviction 
seemed to possess his soul, and his appeals 
were evidently sincere. In closing, he 
told the story of Charlotte Elliot’s con¬ 
version, and asked the people to sing the 
hymn that she had written: 

“Just as I am without one plea.” 

It was a fitting close of the day and the 
three men left the church stronger and 
better able to meet the duties of the week. 

On their way back to the hotel they met 
the people of the Folsom Avenue Church 
returning to their homes. On passing the 
building they saw Mr. Newhall in the ves¬ 
tibule. He was talking with some gentle¬ 
men in a strained, restless way and seemed 
anxious to separate himself from their 


COMMITTEE 


173 


company. In a few moments he hurried 
past them. His mind was evidently pre¬ 
occupied, for he did not recognize their 
presence. 

They watched him until he had reached 
the comer, then Mr. Moore said: 

“By the way, brethren, whom shall we 
send to Harksborough to supply the pul¬ 
pit next Sunday? Deacon Brant said in 
his letter that candidates were not wanted 
until we had found the right man.” 

“I don’t know,” returned Mr. Stickler, 
“unless we try to induce the minister we 
heard this evening to go. He’ll do our 
people good.” 

“He gave notice that he wouldn’t 
be home next Sunday,” Mr. Ritchie re¬ 
marked, “and that a man by the name of 
Slosson would take his place. He evi¬ 
dently has some other engagement for that 
day, so he’s out of the question.” Then, 
as if a sudden inspiration had come to him, 
he said: “Let’s hurry up and overtake 
Newhall and ask him. He certainly 
could not be regarded as a candidate, and 
he would do for one Sunday at least.” 


174 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


In a moment they were by the young 
man’s side, and broached the subject of his 
preaching. He seemed annoyed at their 
presence and listened to their request 
without appearing to fully comprehend 
what they wanted. His mind was evi¬ 
dently engaged on some other subject, 
and he was in haste to get away from 
them. As they pressed for an answer he 
said: 

“Yes, I suppose that I could go to 
Harksborough. Let me see. That’s on 
the Eastern Central Road. Couldn’t you 
find some one else? I should greatly pre¬ 
fer to be quiet next week.” 

Surprised at his unwillingness, they 
urged him to accept their invitation. At 
last he consented, more perhaps to pre¬ 
vent further urging than from any desire 
to preach. 

Then he begged to be excused, and has¬ 
tening his steps, turned a corner, while the 
three men proceeded to their hotel. 

Mr. Newhall walked about half a mile 
and entered a city park. After wander¬ 
ing aimlessly about for some time he sat 


COMMITTEE 


175 


down at the end of an empty bench and 
threw his arm over the back. Then he 
buried his face in his sleeve and remained 
motionless for a long time. The crowds 
moved up and down the pathway, but he 
saw them not. Occasionally some one 
seated himself at the other end of the 
bench that he occupied, but he did not lift 
his head. Young men and women 
laughed and talked in loud tones, but he 
did not seem to hear them; strollers 
brushed against his coat and feet, but he 
was unconscious of any disturbance. 
Boys and girls shouted to one another as 
they ran near him, but he was as one in a 
dream. 

The people who had left the Folsom 
Avenue Church that day, dissatisfied and 
critical, did not realize that, within the 
breast of the self-conscious pedant who 
had spoken to them, was the spirit of a 
true man who, though conceited and 
praise-loving, was yet dissatisfied with his 
own performances, and realized more 
keenly than any one in the congregation 
that he had failed to fulfill his calling. 


176 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


The sermon that he had preached in the 
morning had been prepared with great 
care, but with little prayer. He felt in his 
soul that what it contained was in accord 
with the beliefs of the denomination to 
which he belonged, but yet it had not 
reached nor helped the people, and, in the 
light of after thought, it seemed a mock¬ 
ery. Not a few had come forward and 
congratulated him on his effort and some 
had spoken flatteringly of his illustrations 
and quotations, but a voice within told him 
that his work had ended in failure. 

All day long he heard that same voice 
condemning and charging him, and he 
would have been glad to have remained 
away from the evening service, but he had 
been engaged to preach, and preach he 
must. Spurring himself for a second ef¬ 
fort he tried to be less formal, and to 
throw more earnestness and enthusiasm 
into his words, but it was in vain—he could 
not force spiritual power. 

For a long time after he had seated him¬ 
self in the park his mind seemed to be in 
darkness. The fogbanks of doubt and 


COMMITTEE 


177 


questioning gathered about him from 
every side. He wondered whether he had 
ever spoken the truth from the pulpit, for 
truth, he said to himself, could only be 
spoken by one who was himself true. 
Perhaps he had mistaken his calling. He 
prayed for light, but no light came; he 
prayed for guidance, but no path opened 
before him; he prayed for strength, but he 
felt weak. 

Then a vision of his life swept before 
his memory. He saw himself a little 
freckle-faced boy, playing on the green in 
front of the village school-house. Sud¬ 
denly he heard the sound of a bell, and, 
looking up, saw a woman standing in the 
doorway. Recess was over. The vision 
changed, and he was in the Sunday-school. 
His teacher had turned her back for an 
instant, and he tore a blank leaf from the 
Bible and began to roll it in wads to snap 
across the room. The superintendent 
called for singing. A bright-eyed girl, 
with braid of flaxen hair and blue ribbon 
looked over her book at him from the other 
side of the room. He crowded the paper 


178 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


in his pocket and began to shout the words 
of the hymn that had been announced. 

The vision changed again, and he was in 
his mother’s arms confessing a falsehood 
with tears of penitence and promises of 
future truthfulness. It was evening, and 
he knelt to say his evening prayer, and 
as he prayed he felt the pressure of his 
mother’s hand. Oh, that was living! 
Would he ever live again surrounded by 
that which was pure and true and real? 

The vision changed again and he was in 
the house of mourning, and stood beside 
that same loved parent looking at the si¬ 
lent face of a revered father, and he heard 
the mother say: “Nathaniel, I must lean 
on you now; we two are all that are left. 
God has given us to each other.” That 
evening they talked together about the 
dead, and he remembered how he had de¬ 
clared with emphasis that he should al¬ 
ways be proud of the name he bore, when 
his mother answered: “Be thankful for 
it and try to so live that your father would 
approve of your behavior were he still on 
the earth.” 


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179 


The vision changed again. He was 
hastening home from college to speak his 
last sad farewell to that same mother 
whose life was fast ebbing away. He 
reached her bedside, looked into her pale 
face, and grasped her thin hand. Could 
he ever forget the words she spoke? It 
was her dying message, yet he had neg¬ 
lected it. “Learn to preach, my boy,” she 
whispered, “beneath the shadow of the 
cross. You must see and hear Christ be¬ 
fore you can deliver His message.” 

The vision changed again, and he was 
kneeling near a pulpit desk in a village 
church. Ministers, long in service, were 
reaching forth their hands. As one 
prayed they rested their fingers on his 
head, and he felt as though God was seal¬ 
ing him to a holy service. 

Three years had passed, and he had in 
pride and self sufficiency denied his 
mother’s teaching and dying message; de¬ 
nied his early profession and purposes at 
ordination. He had let self crowd out a 
vision of Christ. He had been successful 
in his calling if large congregations and 


180 the harksborough 


flattering compliments were evidences of 
success. The village church of which he 
had been pastor had grown to the limit of 
possibility, and he had become restless and 
ambitious to occupy some more command¬ 
ing pulpit, and now, under the revelation 
of the Spirit, he had come to see how false 
he had been to Christ. “Fool that I am,” 
he cried. “This life I am living is not the 
fulfilment of a divine ministry; it is the 
pursuit of a business which, while I hope 
to do good in the world, I am seeking first 
a name for myself, and then an increased 
income to gratify my selfish desires.” 

Some one shook him by the shoulder 
and looking up he saw a policeman who 
told him that it was midnight and he must 
move on. The crowds had disappeared, 
and the stars were shining brightly as he 
rose and returned to the small hotel where 
he was being entertained. As he entered, 
a sleepy clerk looked up for a moment, 
and a bell boy watched him as he ascended 
the stairs. 

Going to his room he closed and locked 


COMMITTEE 181 

the door, and fell upon his knees before 
the bed. 

Early in the morning some one passed 
his room and knocked at a door a short 
distance down the hall and called the hour. 
He arose from his knees as though he 
himself had been called and went to the 
window. The stars had gone out and a 
gray sky wrapt the houses as in a shadow. 
He stood for a moment looking out into 
the lifting darkness. Then he threw him¬ 
self on the bed and slept for an hour. 


182 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


CHAPTER XVI 

CALLED OF GOD 

Monday the committee visited Spar¬ 
tanburg. They had no special interest in 
the trip, but went under a sense of obliga¬ 
tion. On reaching the place, they found 
that Dr. Brownell had contracted a severe 
cold and left home for a short vacation 
among the pines of New Jersey. After 
making a few inquiries regarding his abil¬ 
ity as a preacher and his success as a 
parish worker, and finding that every one 
spoke in the highest terms of his character 
and services, they went to Westwood. 

On the same evening that they reached 
the place Bently Moore called on Emily. 
Mr. Van Cloud had in some way ob¬ 
tained the impression that the call was in¬ 
tended for him and remained in the room, 
much to the annoyance of both the young 
people. 


COMMITTEE 


183 


At the prayer-meeting that week Mr. 
Van Cloud spoke with unusual fervor and 
power, and a deep spiritual impression 
seemed to pervade the service. At the 
close one of the officers of the church arose 
and announced that he had something to 
say to the pastor. Then he stated that on 
account of his faithful service and the 
large growth of the church under his min¬ 
istry, it had been voted to increase his sal¬ 
ary and extend the period of his summer’s 
rest. 

After a brief reply by the surprised 
minister, some one started the hymn, 

“Blest be the tie that binds 
Our hearts in Christian love.” 

Then the people went forward and 
shook hands with their pastor. 

“This is no place for us,” said Mr. 
Stickler on the way back to the hotel. 
“God evidently doesn’t intend our church 
to have Van Cloud. I think we’re shut 
up to Brownell.” 

“It would be wicked for us to call Van 
Cloud after what happened to-night,” Mr. 


! 


184 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


Ritchie replied. “But where’s Moore?” 

“Moore, Moore! Why the last that I 
saw of him,” returned Mr. Stickler, “he 
was talking to the minister’s daughter 
over by the organ.” 

The walk from the church to the par¬ 
sonage generally took about five minutes, 
but on that particular night Bently Moore 
and Emily did not seem to be able to 
traverse the ground in less than half an 
hour, but finally they reached the house 
and instead of entering, walked up and 
down several times. 

“Miss Emily,” said Moore, “you do not 
know how glad I was to be present at the 
meeting to-night. The action of the 
church in raising your father’s salary and 
increasing the length of his vacation was 
fine, and the kind words that were spoken 
were well deserved.” 

“Yes,” returned the girl, “father loves 
his work and loves the people, but some¬ 
times they are so unresponsive that he gets 
discouraged. This expression of their ap¬ 
preciation will make him another man. 
He has been an optimist most of the time; 


COMMITTEE 


185 


now he will be one all the time. If 
churches would only realize it, they could 
make their pastors twice as efficient as 
they are by giving them encouragement 
and a helping hand.” 

“In other words,” said Mr. Moore, “it’s 
unreasonable for a church to throw ice 
water at its pastor and then blame him 
for shivering.” 

Emily laughed, and he continued: “I 
had hoped that your father might become 
our pastor at Harksborough, but now he 
is to receive more salary than we give and 
has a new bond of attachment in West- 
wood.” 

“There’s Mr. Newhall,” she suggested. 
“I think that you could get him. Father 
says he’s had the best kind of home train¬ 
ing and a good education.” 

“Perhaps so,” he responded rather 
shortly. “He may be thoroughly com¬ 
petent to pick up a stone, but he can’t 
throw it. We want some one with more 
experience.” 

The reply silenced her for a moment; 
then she remarked: “Well, it’s too late 


186 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


for father now. He wouldn’t leave 
Westwood for any church.” 

Mr. Moore made no reply until they 
reached the gate in front of Mr. Van 
Cloud’s house, when he took her hand and 
looked down into her bright eyes, that 
seemed brighter and more attractive under 
the light of the full moon that cast its rays 
over the houses and through the branches 
of the trees. He imagined that he could 
detect a heightened color in her cheek. 
However that might have been, her hand 
stayed within his grasp without resist¬ 
ance. 

“Too late for us to secure your father 
as our pastor,” he said. “Yes, I know, 
hut not too late, is it, for me to call you 
to Harksborough?” 

“Me!” she exclaimed, with a quick, 
nervous little laugh, as she glanced up at 
him, but made no effort to withdraw her 
hand. “I’m not a minister! I couldn’t 
preach! Your pastor! How ridicu¬ 
lous!” 

“No, not as my pastor,” he returned, 
“but as my—my wife. If you will, I’ll 


COMMITTEE 


187 


minister and you can preach. You do not 
know how much I love you.” 

She glanced toward the house and then 
said: “Come, let’s walk around the block 
once more. It’s too pleasant to go in 
yet.” Another half hour passed and they 
again reached the gate. Then, before she 
left him, he had put his hands each side of 
her face and bending down, kissed her. 

The next afternoon, Bently Moore 
called on Mr. Van Cloud and told him of 
his love for Emily. The minister was 
surprised at what he heard, but declared 
that it would be useless for him to say any¬ 
thing against her marriage, even if he had 
any desire to do so, which he had not, for 
his daughter had had her own way ever 
since she was a child, and it was too late 
now to begin interfering with her wishes. 

As the three men turned into Main 
Street the next Sunday morning on the 
way to church, they noticed Mr. Van 
Cloud some distance ahead of them, hurry¬ 
ing to his appointment. On the corner of 
Salmon Street was a large saloon, notori¬ 
ous as being frequented by the most fash- 


188 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


ionable drinkers and gamblers of the town. 
As the minister approached the place he 
was stopped by a newspaper reporter, who 
requested some information for publica¬ 
tion. Without realizing how his action 
might be construed, he thoughtlessly 
stepped aside with the young man to avoid 
the jostling of passers by, and stood talk¬ 
ing to him at the very entrance of the 
drinking place. He did not see Mr. 
Ritchie and his friends as they drew near, 
but they noticed him, and Mr. Moore, 
taking in the situation at once, hastened to 
the minister’s side and heartily shaking 
hands with him, hurried him along on pre¬ 
text of having something to communicate. 

Nothing happened to disturb the serv¬ 
ice of the sanctuary that day. The ser¬ 
mon was well planned, thoughtful and 
earnest, and delivered in a way to com¬ 
mand the attention of all. It was, how¬ 
ever, noticed that he used no handkerchief 
in his gesticulations. 

That same Sabbath Rev. Mr. Newhall 
preached in Harksborough. He had 
reached the town late the evening before, 


COMMITTEE 


189 


so that he saw no one except one of the 
officers of the church and the chorister, 
who had come to make sure of his arrival 
and to arrange about the service. 

There was a good congregation when he 
entered the church. Few were aware 
who was to preach. 

He seemed deep in thought as he 
stepped on the platform and took his seat. 
His manner was quiet, dignified and sim¬ 
ple. He announced the hymns as though 
they constituted part of a sacred service. 
He read the Scriptures with great delib¬ 
eration, and with an expression that indi¬ 
cated that their teaching had taken pos¬ 
session of his soul; and he prayed, or 
rather talked with God as though He were 
really present and as though he were 
speaking to a Father who knew the needs 
of the congregation, and waited to pour 
out a blessing. 

When he announced the text there was 
perfect attention. The opening services 
had created a spirit of expectancy, and all 
the people waited as for a divine message 
and they were not disappointed. 


190 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


He spoke from the Gospel of Matthew, 
the twenty-eighth chapter and the last 
part of the twentieth verse. When he had 
uttered the words: “Lo, I am with you 
alway, even unto the end of the world/’ 
he paused, and then, as if experience had 
brought Christ very near to his life, he 
said: “That is true. Men sometimes 
think that they are religious because they 
possess emotions, but they are not relig¬ 
ious unless they possess God.” Then he 
proceeded to speak of the living, wonder¬ 
working Christ, whose presence should be 
realized in the marts of trade, in the quiet 
of the home, in the routine duties of the 
school-room, and in the work and worship 
of the sanctuary. The sermon did not 
show any great depth of thought, but 
rather a great depth of conviction and 
realization of responsibility, so that every 
one felt that he spoke, not of theories, but 
of experiences. There was no attempt at 
show, nor repetition of pious phrases, nor 
oratorical display, nor effort to impress 
the congregation with a sense of the 
preacher’s importance. He appeared 


COMMITTEE 


191 


only as a heavenly envoy to whom had 
been intrusted a message of grace. 

Never had there been such quiet atten¬ 
tion. Even the children seemed to be im¬ 
pressed by the solemn stillness of the 
place, and the interest of their elders, and 
were less restless than usual. 

When the sermon came to a close, the 
preacher lifted his hands in a call to prayer 
and every head was bowed, not in formal 
reverence, but in hallowed devotion. 

The people turned from the church that 
morning and went to their homes with a 
strange quiet filling their souls, a heavenly 
light showing itself in their eyes and a 
new expression in their faces. They had 
met God. 

Then one and another began to ask 
questions: “Who is he?” “What is his 
name?” “Can he not be secured for this 
church?” Some, more anxious than 
others, sought him out and broached the 
subject of a call, but he answered, “No! 
The impression made by the preaching of 
a sermon is not a sufficient ground for a 
call. I know little of the needs of your 


192 THE HARKSBOROUGH 


church, and you know nothing about my 
ability to meet those needs. Your desire 
to have me as your pastor is not bom of 
prayer, but is the expression of an impulse 
which may, or may not, be of God. Let 
us both wait on our Heavenly Father and 
seek wisdom from above; then in due time 
the Holy Spirit will make the way clear.” 

But the tide of desire deepened with 
passing days, until letters were dispatched 
to Mr. Ritchie and his companions to pur¬ 
sue their investigations no further, for the 
members of the church were of one mind. 
Others letters were sent to Mr. Newhall 
urging him to accept a call, or at least visit 
Harksborough again. 

Mr. Newhall preached another Sunday, 
then he probed the people with questions 
regarding their ambitions, purposes, and 
willingness to be led into a more earnest 
service of Christ. Finally he consented 
to consider a call to the pastorate. 

It was not long before he assumed the 
responsibilities of his new field of labor; 
bringing to it a spiritual force that had 
become his through personal consecration 


COMMITTEE 


193 


and communion with God, and that led to 
a deeper religious life among the members 
of the church. 

He was always earnest and active, 
buoyant and cheerful; but when ques¬ 
tioned as to his religious experiences he 
grew serious and thoughtful and answered 
with some reference to the Scriptures. 
To one, who asked where he was con¬ 
verted, he replied, “I sought Christ at 
Baldwins, but He found me at Bradford.” 
To another, who asked him where he re¬ 
ceived his ministerial training, he said, “I 
studied at Thornley College and Santon- 
bury Seminary, but it was at Bradford 
that I received my commission to preach.” 


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